Crumbling Bricks and Mended Hearts
by PaperbackWriter11
Summary: Ten years later and still separated, Violet and Tate cannot move on, try as they might. Will a disturbing new piece of information force Violet into Tate's arms once again?
1. Fire Burning

**Disclaimer: I do not own any original American Horror Story characters that may appear in this story.**

**Claimer: The remainder of this story including plot & dialogue is my original work.**

**No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without my express written authorization.**

**This is my first foray into fan fiction. I just happened to land on this website one day and was enthralled by all the imaginative stories! I'm so glad to have found others who are as in love and obsessed with Violate as I am. Any constructive criticism (and praise!) is welcome. I'm not finished with it yet; let me know if I should go on. FYI, each chapter has a song lyric that I feel represents the mood and tone of the chapter.**

"Firefly" by Saves the Day

"_To me you are the light from a light bulb that breaks sometimes_

_and the tender warmth inside is released into my life_

_and it smothers me in flames that lick and scorch my face._

_As the smoke reaches the sky, know I'm burning tonight._

_Know I burn for you tonight."_

"_I'll wait…forever if I have to."_ Words he spoke long ago; an eternity ago, it seemed. Words that haunted his days—days filled with an endless loop of guilt and pain, longing and suffering. Words; that was all he had of her now. Words that she had whispered to him, words that she had yelled at him, words that had slid off her tongue, like little daggers piercing through his very existence: _"I can't be with you. I won't be with you." _

Her lips moved, but he heard nothing. He knew all that she was saying by the look in her eyes. The big, beautiful brown eyes that had once lit up the room and awakened his universe now glared at him with hatred and disgust. She no longer saw him as her protector, her lover, her best friend. The blindfold was off; she now saw him for who he truly was: a monster lurking inside the cold shell of a disturbed teenage boy. He knew that she was done with him. No longer would she shine beams of warm light, delicately shrinking his dark shadow. The room was spinning;he panicked and attempted to come up with something—anything—any excuse to make her understand, to reasonable justify the heinous, vicious acts that he had committed, no matter how impossible the notion seemed. But as quickly as his quivering lips could mumble out a feeble excuse, they were no match for the words he so fiercely dreaded, which rang out even quicker: _"GO AWAY!"_ And with that, he was gone.

* * *

><p>Ten years later, and memories of their love—and their demise—still creep up on him. He closes his eyes and tries to distract himself, but the images grow stronger and more intense, until they engulf his senses completely. Unbearable thoughts and sensations of love, lust, and loss that ironically, are the only comforts of his in this ungodly world. Their last kiss; her lips so soft, for a brief moment, seemed forgiving. But her last words to him, <em>"Goodbye Tate" <em>had sealed his date with impending death. Romeo and Juliet they would never be; any chance of eternal love within these prison walls had vanished. The air of her last words seeped into his mouth and filled his lungs, sealing them, allowing no breath to ever escape again.

"_Tate…"_ Startled, he quickly opens his eyes, wildly searching the room. He could swear he heard her voice, but alas, just another trick his mind devilishly enjoys playing on him. He knew she was never coming back. With a half-hearted sigh, he sits on the cold, hard floor of the basement and leans back against the brick wall. Bored, he chips away at the cracked paint on the wall. Drip, drip, drip. He looks up at the pipe overhead leaking onto him and makes no attempt to move. This was his life now; a void, a nothingness, an emptiness. No trace of the vast, limitless expanse he had craved on those restless nights when he would peer into the twinkling black ocean and dream of a life beyond his own. Just an eternal prison of misery and regret in a rotting house full of rotting spirits—none of whom he had even the faintest desire to engage with, none of whom could even dream of comparing to her.

He tucks his knees up to his chest. As he rocks back and forth, memories flash before him, searing across his mind like the sharp edge of a razor blade gliding across his wrists…her wrists. Like droplets of blood, the memories drip faster and faster, coagulating into a deep, murky puddle that quickly spreads, coating the basement floor and slithering up the walls. Soon everything is consumed by the dark, viscous liquid, including Tate, who allows himself to be swallowed up until everything goes red.

* * *

><p>As hard as he tried, he still could not completely evade the dark, murderous thoughts; the blood and the carnage that haunted him, that taunted him. But darkness had not taken him over completely. He was changed. He hadn't committed an evil deed since the day she said goodbye, though he certainly did wrestle with the occasional desire to prey on an easy target, especially with the 20 or so tenants that have quickly come and gone. Holed up in the basement, he reluctantly engaged with Hayden; to pass the time, they would plot little schemes to scare the new tenants. But when it came time to embark upon their dastardly deeds, he would back out at the last minute and Hayden of course, grumbled and told him to <em>"grow a pair." <em>In the end, their futile and immature schemes were just that—schemes, and nothing else; he dare not act upon them for fear, and secretly, for some sliver of hope, that she, his eternal love, may be watching.

Even in his weary, sometimes bloodthirsty existence, he still couldn't bring himself to inflict pain, confusion, or terror among new tenants; through her elected absence, Violet had taught him to recognize them as vulnerable, as innocents. He didn't want to hurt them, but he was jealous of what they had possessed and had taken for granted: their ignorance to the darkness that the house possessed; the dreams they could envision during their pleasant slumbers; the clearness of their conscience; and most remarkably, the freedom of their souls.

He wallows in his everlasting love for her—a love he never dreamed was possible for him, the only peace he had ever known. A genuine love and friendship built on precious time spent playing games, surfing the net, listening to music...simply existing together. At night, he would curl up and lie beside her as she slept, gazing at her, caressing her, feeling her faint breath on his face. Still and quiet next to her were the only peaceful moments he experienced; he would keep time of her rhythmic breathing, memorize the contours of her face and wait for her to awake. When morning came, he continued to search her face until her eyelids fluttered open, beginning the day anew. Throughout the day he would count the minutes, arduously waiting until she came home from school when they would be together again.

Whimpering, he puts his head in his hands and stares at the floor, tears streaming down his cheeks. As he's said to himself hundreds of times over: _She deserves to be happy, and that can only be in a life without me. _This is his mantra, and he must tell it to himself until he can believe it. Sad and defeated, he sighs with a heavy heart and reaches up to wrap his hand around the long pull chain, shutting off the light bulb. As darkness envelopes him, he shutters, and shrieks a single word, the only word that makes any sense to him: _"Violet!" _he cries, in pain and in vain, in between sobs. Even after all this time, her exquisiteness could not be extinguished. She had left him with his fire burning, and no conceivable way to put it out.


	2. Quietest Moments

"In Front of You" by The Quiet Kind

"_House is cold_

_The days are long_

_Curtains closed_

_TV on_

_Why can't you ever see_

_What's in front of you_

_You might say_

_I'm heavy handed_

_I can't say_

_I understand it_

_Why can't you ever see_

_What's in front of you"_

Sitting on the stoop, she watched the bluebird take a drink of water out of the concrete birdbath. She studied it closely, watching its tiny beak peck at the puddle. The vibrancy of its feathers astounded her; shining in the bright sun, it was a superior color of blue. She blinked, and stared more intensely; she was surprised at how vibrant the bird looked to her. Her eyes hadn't seen something so pure, vivid, and _alive_ in what seemed like forever. She rose, slowly walking toward the bird. She approached it stealthily, her right arm reaching out. Just as her fingertips were about to grace its feathers, the bird quickly turned its head, looked at her, and flew away through the wrought-iron gate. She ran to the gate and wrapped her hands around the iron bars. Peering through the bars, she searched the trees for the bird, to no avail. Her eyes eventually turned towards the street, searching for any signs of life, but all that lay before her were a bunch of parked bougie cars. She wanted so badly to break through the gates and just…just what? Walk? Run? Fly away? She didn't know. In fact, she had no clue. She just knew she wanted OUT. Sighing, she let her hands fall from the gate. Wiping the dirt from her hands, she turned around and started walking up the path to the house, when she suddenly stopped in her tracks.

In front of her on the lawn, was her bed. "_What the hell…?"_ she whispered to herself. She rubbed her eyes and looked again. She saw herself laying in the bed, on her side, with her arm propped up, her head in her hand. Her eyes then averted to a boy standing in front of the bed: a curly mop of blonde hair, an oversized sweater—Tate. She instantly recognized him and the memory that was about to unfold. _"I like birds too."_ he said softly. _"Why do you like them?" _she said._ "So they can fly away when things get too crazy, I guess." _he replied. He then twisted his upper torso around and looked behind him at Violet who was staring back in disbelief, her feet planted to the ground like they were stuck in cement blocks. He didn't say anything; he just smiled at her.

"_Stop it!"_ she yelled aloud to the vision in front of her before it could play out any further. She shut her eyes for a full minute. When she slowly opened them, the vision was gone; all that stood in front of her was the house. She turned her head quickly to the right and then to the left, to see if anyone else was outside, hoping for any proof that someone else had seen what she had just seen, that she was not going bat shit crazy.

"_Damn it!"_ she muttered. She hated when that happened. When flashes of him would appear to her at random moments; peaceful moments ruined like a Mack truck crushing a pile of rusted, hollowed out cars. She shuffled back to stoop and slumped down. _I wish I had a freaken' cigarette right now, _she thought._ S_he 'd give anything to inhale that glorious smoke deep into her lungs and exhale it out, blowing out all of her frustrations, anxieties, and fears into the crisp air to be dissolved, ceasing to exist. Now that she was stuck in this purgatory nightmare, there were no more cigarettes, and no more crisp air; just a staleness that seeped into every crevice, rattling what was left of her bones.

She remembered how he used to light her cigarettes for her…how a sweet smile would creep across his face. His gaze, blazing forth with intense adoration, held her captive with its many secrets. In awe of his dark beauty, her fingertips would reach up and lightly travel down the surface of his face: the roundness of his cheeks, the pronounced dimples in his skin, and lastly, his soft mouth. Always his mouth last. Always his mouth that devoured her whole with electric kisses, fireflies dancing on her skin wherever his lips landed.

Those were the good memories, the ones that she preferred to hold onto. What she really preferred was to never think of him again, but that was impossible. In her quietest moments, her thoughts always turned to him. His soul was forever intertwined with hers—an undeniable fact. But the stains of his lies, his murders, and his inescapable darkness left an indelible mark on her, though over the years, had faded ever so slightly. This was not something that she wanted to admit, even to herself. But strangely, and quite uncomfortably, she found herself thinking about him more often. She had grown more curious than anything to discover what he was doing after all these years. Mostly, she just wanted to know if he was OK. But she didn't dare attempt to find this out; deep down, she knew he wasn't.


	3. Blurry Haze

"Skinny Love" covered by Birdy

"_I told you to be patient  
>I told you to be fine<br>I told you to be balanced  
>I told you to be kind<br>In the morning I'll be with you  
>But it will be a different "kind"<br>I'll be holding all the tickets  
>And you'll be owning all the fines"<em>

"_Violet!"_ Vivian yells, _"Dinner's ready!"_ Violet runs down the stairs and into the dining room where dinner is already set on the table. She pulls out a chair and sits down. Tickling her baby brother in the high chair, Violet asks, _"Where's Dad?"_ _"He'll be here in a minute." _Vivian replies. Just then, Ben walks into the room. He gives Violet and the baby a quick kiss on top of their heads. _"Where have you been all day, sweetheart?"_ he inquires. _"Out and about." _she replies. _"Mostly outside, it was nice out today." _

Taking a bite of her steak, Violet smiles and asks Ben_ "What were you up to today?"_, waiting to hear some amusing anecdote. Using tongs, Ben picks up some salad from a bowl and places it in his dish. _"Talking with Tate, actually." _he said matter-of-factly. Violet choked. _"Wh-What?"_ she says. Coughing, she spits her food out into a napkin. _"Why? Why were you talking with him?" _Her eyes frantically search his for answers. Vivian, who was looking down at her plate was quiet, playing with her food. _"Well, honey, I've been speaking with him for awhile." _Ben says sheepishly._ "For awhile?" _Violet yells._ "What do you mean? Why didn't you tell me this?"_ Her eyes start to well up with tears. _"And don't give me the doctor-patient confidentiality bullshit excuse!"_

"_I'm not his doctor, sweetheart." _Ben reaches out to take hold of Violet's hand. "_We're just…talking. That's all." "Talking?" _she says, quickly pulling her hand away. _"What could you possibly have to say to him? What could he possibly have to say to you?" _She suddenly went cold; _"You don't talk about me, do you?"_ she says with dread_. "No." _Ben replies quickly._ "He asks about you and I just tell him that you are fine, that's all." _He glances at Vivian out of the corner of his eye and she glances back at him nervously. Violet stares down at her plate in disbelief, trying to process this troubling information.

"_Tate's trying to…to make amends." _Ben is silent. Ben continues_, "He's been trying to make peace with the others in the house that he…" _Ben's voice trails off._ "That he killed!" _Violet yells. At this outburst, the baby begins to cry. Vivian jumps out of her chair to tend to him.

Unaffected by her brother's cries, Violet looks at Vivian scornfully. _"You knew about this mom? And didn't tell me?" _ Rocking the baby, Vivian looks at Violet with a pained expression on her face. _"Violet, honey, we were going to tell you, but we just couldn't find the right time."_ _"The right time?"_ Violet gasps. _"We didn't want to set you off."_ Vivian explains. _"Ha, too fucking late for that."_ snaps Violet.

"_Violet,"_ Ben says softly. _"We don't want to keep you in the dark with all of this. That's why we're telling you now._ _This doesn't mean that you have to speak to him or even think about him." "I don't."_ Violet says defiantly. _"I won't."_ She was silent for a minute, fidgeting with her hands in her lap. She raises her head and looks at Ben first, then at Vivian. _"Does this mean that you forgive him?"_ she whispers slowly, deliberately.

Ben and Vivian both pause and look at each other. _"We can't ever really forgive him for what he did to your mother, and especially for what he did to you." _Ben replies. _"But honey, we want to be at peace. We're stuck in this goddamn house for eternity, and we might as well try to make it a peaceful existence, if that's possible. This family couldn't have one when it was alive, so we're sure as hell going to have one when we're dead." _

Violet sobs at this._ "Sweetheart, if you don't want me to talk with him anymore, all you have to do is just say the word and I'll be done with it."_ Ben says. Vivian hands Violet a napkin to clean her tear-soaked face. _"Do you think he's really changed? That he's capable of changing?"_ Violet asks. After being silent in thought for a moment, Ben replies slowly, _"Tate is a psychopath and will always be a psychopath. But_ _I believe that he has truly suffered and is ready to take responsibility for what he's done. To face the consequences, whatever they may be." _

"_Mom, do you feel the same way?"_ Violet asks. _"I do, honey." _Vivian replies. "_What he did to me, to this family was monstrous._ _But…I don't know. I'm happy now." _Holding her son on her lap, she smoothes his blonde peach fuzz hair with her hand._ "We're happy. Ironically, we now have the life we've always wanted and I…I just want to move on from our past. This can give us a new start."_

Ben looked Violet dead in the eyes._ "Violet, it's because of you that Tate's even attempting to do this. I don't understand nor condone it, but in his own sick way, he…genuinely cares about you. You're goodness and sensibility and most importantly, your absence, has, I think, had a profound influence on him." _It pained Ben to say this, especially because he did not want Violet to sympathize with Tate in any way, but he vowed to never keep anymore secrets from his family, and he was going to keep that vow.

"_This is a lot to take in right now. Can I be excused?"_ Violet says, her voice cracking. _"Of course sweetheart."_ Ben replies. _"You know we're here if you want to talk." _Violet takes one last glance at Vivian, who is cooing at her baby brother. She rises from the table and runs upstairs to her room.

She barely makes it up the stairs when the sobbing begins. Crying profusely, she sinks to the floor, hyperventilating, unleashing all that had been so tightly locked inside her for the past 10 years: the pain, the sorrow, the regret, the guilt, the love, the hate, the shame. Images of his face flash in her mind. She thinks back to earlier in the day, to the vision of herself on her bed talking to Tate. She remembered that conversation so well, and all that it represented—her choice to be with him. Tate, standing there with his heart breaking was too much for her to bear. The love she felt for him at that moment surpassed all that she had uncovered about his tragic past; it was then that she chose to accept him—all of him, good and evil.

Her mind then raced to the next memory, when she confronted him about all the lies he told, all the people the murdered, and how he had raped her mother. She remembered that conversation so well, and all that it represented—her choice to leave him. Tate standing there, so helpless, so vulnerable. She desperately wanted to believe him, but knew at that moment that she would never believe him again. She knew that whatever excuses he was going to make would never be enough. Despite his tears and ramblings of love, she could no longer see him as the sensitive, misunderstood boy she so deeply fell in love with; all she could see was a monster. The hate she felt for him at that moment surpassed all the love that she had felt for him; it was then that she chose to leave him—and never look back. Until now.

The room was spinning, closing in around her. She runs into the bathroom, her old sanctuary. She pries open the mirrored cabinet door with such force that it almost falls off its hinges. Through a blurry haze, she rummages through the cabinet's contents until she pulls out a razor blade. Throbbing with pain, she holds the razor to her wrist. _Bullshit he's changed, s_he thought. _He's just playing with my parents and with all the others in the house for shits and giggles. _The others may have swallowed Tate's crap about sincerely looking for redemption and mercy, but she would be the only one able to recognize the truth. She needed to witness this so-called "transformation" for herself, with her own eyes and her own ears. _So you think you've fooled them all, don't you?_ Violet thought. Abandoning her attempt to cut herself, she slams the razor down on the porcelain sink and stares straight into the mirror, her face cold as stone. _We'll see about that._


	4. Checkmate

**Thanks to all of you who chose to follow my story – it really means so much to me! Sorry I haven't written in awhile. I know my chapters are a bit slow burning, but stick with me— I promise the next chapter will be chock full of Violate goodness!**

"Talk Show Host" by Radiohead

"_I want to, I want to be someone else or I'll explode_

_Floating upon the surface for_

_The birds, the birds, the birds_

_You want me, well fucking well come and find me_

_I'll be waiting with a gun and a pack of sandwiches_

_And nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing_

_You want me, well, come on and break the door down_

_You want me, fucking come on and break the door down_

_I'm ready, I'm ready, I'm ready, I'm ready, I'm ready..."_

With a deliberate lightness in her step, Violet tiptoes down the hallway as quietly as she can. Turning her head from side to side, she constantly inspects her surroundings for fear of anyone seeing her. She takes a step with her left foot. The wooden floor creaks; Violet winces. She stands still, her right foot stuck in mid-air. _Shit,_ she thinks. _I'm a freaken ghost; I should be able to float around here without making a damn sound_. Gravely concentrating on her movements, she slowly lowers her right foot towards the floor, toe to heel. No creak. _Whew. _

After a few more silent steps, she looks down at the floor. _X marks the spot. _She looks straight up at the ceiling. She stands there for a minute, deliberating. She hadn't been up there in years. Did she know what she was doing? What she was about to do? _Hell no._ It was as if the apocalypse was imminent and she was the only one who knew about it, much less the one who brought it forth.

With a shaky hand, she pulls on the hanging string. Nothing happens. _The stupid door must be jammed!_ She grits her teeth and pulls harder. Dust rains down on her face and she sneezes. She stops immediately, hoping no one heard anything. She surveys the hallway, peering down one end and then the other. Silence. No one around. She closes her eyes and lets out a sigh of relief. She angrily looks back up at the door hatch and with one more powerful tug, it swings opens. The folding ladder sharply juts out, almost hitting her in the face, but she catches it just in time. Muttering obscenities, she gently unfolds the ladder and gingerly begins to climb up. The wood feels rough against her hands.

Near the top of the ladder, Violet stops climbing and peers into the attic, her eyes barely looking over the distressed floorboards. She can't see much of the dark space. _Well, it's now or never,_ she laments to herself. Using all the strength in her arms, she lifts herself into the attic. Wiping dust from her hands, she quietly examines the room. It's changed since the last time she was in it. It still had that same musty smell with corners full of cobwebs, but there were new items and boxes lying around. Violet guessed that most of these were left by accident from past tenants who fled the house in terror, never to return. Never to come back for their belongings. Discarded belongings, like her and the other ghosts here. No one to claim them. Left here to be forgotten.

She scans the room until her eyes land on an object that she instantly recognizes. She walks over and leans down. A silky curtain of blonde hair falls in her face, and she tucks it behind her ear. With a faint smile, Violet runs her hand along the top of each plastic piece: pawn; knight; queen; rook; bishop. When she reaches the black king, she frowns, and flicks it with her finger. It falls onto the chessboard and rolls around a perfect 365 degrees until it stops in the middle of the board.

Puzzled, she didn't know why she flicked the piece; it was a visceral reaction. She just knew that it could never get back up on its own unless she chose to pick it up. Unless she willed it so. This realization gave her a perplexing sense of satisfaction. She stares at the king lying helplessly on the black and white checkered board, knowing full well that although the king is the most important piece, it is usually the weakest piece in the game until a later phase, the endgame.

_Ugh, come the fuck on Violet, _she scolds herself. _You're getting distracted. Just do what you came here to do._ Violet slowly begins to walk toward the back of the attic slowly and calmly. She closes her eyes, licks her lips, and pushes out a breath, psyching herself up. When she opens her eyes, she parts her lips and calls out faintly: "_Beau…_?"

The attic was quiet. _Maybe he's not up here_, she thinks. She purses her lips. "_Beauregard…?_" she calls softly again. "_You wanna play?_" Still no answer. Ever the girl with no lasting patience, Violet crosses her arms and begins to tap her left foot on the floor. _He's not here_, she thinks dejectedly. When there is still no answer, she quickly becomes annoyed and turns around to leave. Just as she was about to take her first step, she hears the faint sound of a chain rattling.

She spins back around but makes no attempt to move toward the sound. Squinting into the dark corner, she attempts to make out Beau's outline, but still cannot see anything. _Poor thing…he must be scared to come out. _Hoping that he can see her, she bends down to the floor, sits on her knees, and smiles warmly. _"It's OK Beau, you can come out. I want to play," _she coaxes.

Suddenly, a red rubber ball rolls out towards her from the darkness.

* * *

><p>"<em>He he," <em>Violet giggles. Sitting on the floor with her legs spread apart, Violet rolls the ball back and forth with Beau. Watching him laugh and smile made her surprisingly…happy. His childlike innocence was contagious; it was a relief to forget about this miserable house for a few moments and just fool around.

She stares at his face while they play. His gray, sullen skin and bulbous head were difficult to take in. It was easy to see how people would be frightened of him at first sight. His monstrous appearance and mannerisms, though unforgiving, became sweet and endearing after a short time spent with him. His grotesque features were an unfortunate shell that covered up a gentle, blissful soul. He was the complete opposite of his brother, whose dark heart was veiled by the most beautiful shell she had ever laid eyes upon.

Lost in contemplation, Violet was staring at the stained glass window when Beau rolls the red ball to her fast and hits her leg, abruptly interrupting her thoughts. Startled, Violet snaps back to reality and moves forward, putting her agenda in motion: she didn't come up to the attic just to play, though it was an unexpectedly delightful distraction; she had questions and needed answers. She was nervous to talk to Beau; she never really did before. She didn't even know if he would understand her, but figured it was worth a shot. Rolling the ball back to Beau, she asks, _"Beau, do you know where Tate is?"_

The ball that she had rolled did not come back to her. Beau was silent. She could hear him breathing. After a minute, Beau rolls the ball back to her and says slowly, _"Ta-Tate downstairs in basement."_

_Hmm…so he does understand_, Violet thinks. She rolls the ball back and forth a few more times before attempting to ask him another question. _"Beau, do you talk to Tate?" _she says. This time, Beau was quicker to answer. _"Tate come here to play,"_ he says gleefully. Violet was not shocked at this answer. She figured that Tate would visit his brother from time to time.

Violet was hesitant about asking her next question. It was one that she was not ready to ask, or would ever be prepared to learn the answer to. _"Beau…is Tate happy or sad?"_ she asks hesitantly.

She sees Beau shuffle around uncomfortably, his chains rattling. Violet holds her breath. When he settles, he whispers,_ "Tate sad." _Agh, she was afraid he would say that. Looking down at the floor, Violet sighs, rolling the ball between her hands. She didn't expect him to say what he said next: _"Tate misses Violet." _Violet jerks her head up; her eyes were wide and her breathing instantly became shallow. She stares at Beau, saying nothing. She looks to him to say something more, yet knows full well that he can't. Those three words were enough.

Though his answers were short, she knew the exact depths of what Beau was saying. Truth be told, she already knew all the answers. She just needed to hear them from the one ghost who would be honest with her. The one ghost who didn't have an agenda, a vendetta, or holes in his soul.

Beau was eyeing the ball in her hands. He waits impatiently for her to roll it back to him and gestures with his hands that he wants the ball. She rolls it back to him.

Beau's answers were not a revelation that confirmed her worst suspicions. They were not even the reason why she came up here. She was not here to find out where Tate was, what he was doing, or even if he missed her. No, she came here because after pushing it away, after holding it at arm's length for so long, she was ready to have reality smack her in the face; to finally recognize what she had dreaded all along. She longed to say it back, to say it out loud, but she couldn't.

_Oh Beau_, she thinks sullenly. _Violet misses Tate too._

* * *

><p>She hears him. The wind is knocked out of her at this was ready to confront him, but not ready at this moment; not when it's forced upon her like this.<p>

When Beau hears, he retreats into the darkness. _Smart boy,_ Violet thinks. _Wish I could hide like you._

She hears his voice again; her whole body clenches.

"_Whatever…"_ he says unenthusiastically. _"You know I'm right."_ a female voice says defiantly. _Hayden_,Violet realizes._ Agh, I hate that bitch. "Listen, I told you I don't want to talk about it, so just knock it off, okay?"_ he says angrily. _"Fine, fine, I promise I won't breathe another word about it." _Hayden replies sarcastically. _"Hmm, how ironic—you breathing." _he quips. _"Shut up…"_ she mutters.

Violet crawls closer to the opening of the attic so that she can better hear their conversation. She inches slowly up to the door hatch opening and peers down into the hallway; Tate and Hayden are facing her, walking down the hallway towards the attic. Her eyes glaze over Hayden and quickly settle on Tate, curiously inspecting him. She wasn't prepared for what she felt when she saw him again, the first time in ten years. Her heart was racing; a feverish glow settles upon her cheeks. The electric flow of her synapses sizzle.

He looked the same, of course: blonde curls, oversized sweater, dark eyes. But he seemed distant, less present; he walked with a heavier gait, shuffling about. His hair was tufted and unmanageable. His skin sallow and pruned. His sunken eyes had grey circles chasing them: half-crescent, puffy under eye bags, the color and density of a tea bag before it is submerged in a mug of hot water. Whatever little light was left in his eyes had flickered out. His cheeks were hollow, and appeared as if they had been chiseled with a dull carving knife. These shadows brought down the interiors of this face. Violet suddenly felt very sad; it pained her to see him so depleted. He looked…tortured. Like the house had swallowed him up and spit him out.

When Tate and Hayden reached the attic, they stopped. They were standing directly below Violet now, next to the ladder. _Please don't come up here, please don't come up here,_ Violet pleads. She expects to be found out at any moment, to unavoidably lock eyes with Tate and not be able to turn away; to watch his whole world come crashing down, while Hayden smirks in the background.

When Violet peers down again, she sees that neither one seems to notice the ladder or the open door hatch. Tate was too preoccupied with throwing Hayden hateful looks that he barely seemed to have the strength to muster, while Hayden was too busy being spiteful for her own amusement.

She watches Hayden move closer to Tate in a seductive fashion. She stands in front of him and hoops her slender arms around his neck. He doesn't push her away. Violet feels a twinge of jealously, of carnal possessiveness. It takes everything in her to keep quiet and not yell down, _"Get your grubby hands off of him, bitch!"_ Tate stares down at Hayden blankly. She looks up at him smugly, and a devilish smile slowly makes its way across her lips. He lifts his head up and looks away, his face stoic. He grabs both of her arms with his hands, trying to pry her grip from around his neck. But she holds steady, leaning in to kiss him. _"Come on…"_ she whispers.

He rejects Hayden's advances, turning his head so that her lips barely brush the undercut of his jaw. Tate quickly grabs her by the throat and pushes her against the wall. The back of her head hits it with a loud thump. Violet flinches. She didn't expect him to be that quick and agile with his ragged appearance as of late. But she reminds herself that things are not always as they them seem with Tate. His manipulative nature knows no bounds. Although a part of her that was relieved, Violet wondered why he had rejected Hayden's advances. She would have thought that by now that their collective loneliness and feelings of unrequited love, not to mention their shared bitterness towards the Harmon family, would have led them straight into each other's arms.

"_I'm not into it…I'll never be into it, so just quit it."_ he snarls at Hayden. The reverberation of his voice casts a net over Violet's ears. Still pinned to the wall, Hayden breaks out into maniacal laughter. _"Why? Cause you're still in lurve, right? With that little nightingale bitch, Vi-"_ _"Watch it!"_ Tate grits through his teeth, interjecting before Hayden can mouth out another syllable. _"Don't you dare speak her name." _Violet could see Tate's grip tighten around Hayden's neck, his bruised knuckles turning white.

"_Oh, please, loser."_ Hayden rolls her eyes and with all her might, shoves his hand off her throat. She was trying to play if off, but Violet could discern that Hayden was a bit startled at his aggressive reaction, even though he couldn't bring any actual physical harm to her. Despite this, Hayden did not ease off of exasperating Tate, stating snidely, _"You know, you have to stop being so hopelessly obsessed with her. She'll never talk to you again. She wants NOTH-ING to do with you, don't you get it?"_

"_I told you, I'm in love, and that is forever. I will never want to be with anyone else. Especially someone like you."_ he sneers. _"Why?" _she inquires._ "Because I'm not like your precious, innocent flower? HAHA!" _she laughs haughtily._ "You sure had her fooled—thinking you were her knight in shining armor when really you were just her nightmare." _she finishes pompously.

"_I swear to God Hayden, get the hell out of my face. NOW."_ he says, his voice dark and low. His hands clenching into fists, Tate lowers his chin and stares straight at her, his pupils dilating, brimming red with fire.

Violet's eyes widen with fear and her windpipe closes up. She had never seen Tate look so menacing and had never heard his voice so cruel. It was as if Tate was revealing himself to her for the first time. This was the whole other side of him that she had never witnessed before, the demon that others had warned her about; those who she had brushed off as outsiders because they didn't understand him, didn't know the _real_ him, like she did. Violet was disgusted. She felt foolish and betrayed. Now she could understand how he could commit those horrendous, violent acts so easily; how he could feed her lies so effortlessly—building a mountain of lies upon lies to cover up the original ones. She consciously "knew" about this side of him, but had never witnessed it before. She ignorantly rationalized that if she had never seen it, maybe it didn't really exist. But it did exist; it existed in the past, it existed now, and it would still exist in the future.

Violet turns back towards the attic. She couldn't stand to watch or hear anymore of this. Her knees buckle and she coils in pain, falling to the floor. She felt as if the foundation beneath her was quaking and she would soon be crushed underneath the weight of his darkness that unfurled before her. How could he be so gentle and attentive with her and so rough and dismissive with another? Even though Hayden was a heinous bitch who deserved everything she got in her wretched existence, his violent, sadistic behavior still made Violet shudder in contempt. Did her eyes and ears deceive her when she met him? Did her mind and heart mislead her when she loved him? When last they spoke, she believed that he was changing for the better, though it happened too late to save their love. She was jarred by the discrepancy of how she remembered him—or how she wanted to remember him—and the current assault he had just unleashed on her senses.

Billowy waves of fear, regret, and unease wash over her, seeping into her temples and thrashing about. The room was spinning. Violet feels as if she is about to throw up. The anger that consumed her in the bathroom before she came to the attic had resurfaced, boiling her skin. She wished to leave this earth instantly, to run across the sky and sacrifice herself to the radiating sun. Ultraviolet rays emitting sparks, causing spontaneous combustion that would ignite bursts of flames along her arms, legs, and spine. Flames engulfing her with a force that would instantly disintegrate her bones and melt her marrow, achieving perfect oblivion.

She waits until he retreats into the shadows before she leaves the attic. Her hands are shaking as she climbs down the ladder. With her heart in shambles but her mind clearer than it has ever been, she walks solemnly, but with purpose, back to her room.

She was tired of rationalizing and of contemplating; seasick from the monotonous ebb and flow of wondering what would happen if they saw each other again; how she would act, how he would react. She was finally ready to confront him. And she knew exactly what she had to do to see him again.

_Checkmate Tate. You win. You want to finally see me after all these years? Well, I'm giving you your ultimate wish,_ she declared. _But you should know to be careful what you wish for._ With malice in her heart, she swipes the razor blade that she had left on the porcelain sink, glistening underneath in the bathroom's florescent lighting. Violet began the attack against her slender wrist._ One slice. Two slice._

Tracing the razor blade along the winding purple river of her veins and feeling the heat of the blood cells escaping her skin, Violet feels an instant rush of ecstasy, like a heroin addict who gets that high they've been jonesing for. She turns her arm sideways, letting droplets of blood fall onto the sink, a trail of red dots, like bread crumbs that are left for a bird to follow.

Now all she had to do was wait for the bird, who she instinctively knew was perched somewhere watching.

At that instant, Tate appears. His head is tipped down, but his eyes look up at her timidly. He approaches her cautiously. _"Violet?"_ he whispers her name so softly, it was barely audible, as if he was deep in prayer. _"You promised me that you would never do that to yourself again."_

Violet looks up at him through the mirror. _"Some promises are meant to be broken."_ she said stiffly.

She turns around to face him. She is eye level to his neck, her wide eyes staring at his bulging Adam's apple, like a hunter marking its prey. Without a word, she raises her arm back; out of the corner of his eye, he spots the razor blade in her raised hand. _"Vi…what are you doing?"_ he says in alarm. He starts to step backwards, putting his arms up defensively. Before he can block her, she slices his throat in one fell swoop. A thick blanket of crimson instantly tarnishes his anemic skin.

Flabbergasted, Tate falls back onto the bathroom floor. He stares at her with a questioning in his eyes: _Why?_ Violet doesn't answer. With one hand around his neck trying to clot the blood, he turns on his side and reaches out for her with his other hand. Violet stands there silent, her arms crossed. Devoid of any emotion, she watches over him as he convulses in pain.


	5. Apex Beat

**Hey guys! Sorry that this chapter is so long. I tend to write organically, so my chapters develop themselves—which can lead to lots of text, but with some great surprises! I know my story has been intense thus far, but I promise, you'll be happy when you get to the end of this chapter!**

"Breakable" by Fisher

"_Do you always have to tell him everything  
>On your mind?<br>You know that too much honesty can be  
>So unkind<br>And every time you throw him to the floor  
>Why are you surprised to see he's breakable?<br>_

_You always try to find what's holding him  
>Away from you<br>But do you ever see your anger standing there  
>Right between you?<br>_

_And every time you throw him to the wall  
>Why are you surprised to see he's breakable?<br>_

_Tell the world that he's breaking your heart  
>Go tell the world nothing's ever your fault<br>Go tell them all" _

Her bathroom had finally been christened into the Murder House; its usual pristine had metamorphosed into the little crime scene that could. Smudges of Tate's blood were everywhere; his mutilated body was splayed on the floor. He was lying still on his back, one arm draped across his stomach, the other extended out, fingers curled. His head was turned away from her; she could not see his face.

Sitting on the toilet bowl, with her elbows on her knees, her head in her hands, and her feet pigeon-toed, Violet furrows her brow. Watching Tate "squirm" was more uneventful than she had imagined. He hadn't moved in over two minutes. _Pussy! _she thinks angrily. He had been so easy to take down; or what probably happened—had refused to put up a fight. This aggravated Violet to no end, as she was seeking the ultimate showdown: to observe Tate in all his evil glory and watch him succumb to his inner demon while putting her childish, violent antics to shame. She knew he had it in him after witnessing his violent encounter with Hayden. But his helpless victim act was wearing thin on her patience. She would give him another minute and then she would—

Her sinister plan was interrupted when Tate's head suddenly pops up. He lets out a guttural cough; blood splatters onto his shirt and drips out of the side of his mouth. He plops his head back down to the cold tile floor and mutters in anguish, _"Vi…why are you doing this?"_

That was all she needed. _Showtime._ Violet rose off of the toilet bowl and leisurely walks over to his body, whistling a little ditty while twirling a shiny object in her hand. She stops short when she accidently steps into some of his blood. _Agh, ruin my favorite boots why don't cha…_ She wipes the bottom of her combat boot into the plush area rug.

She tilts her head, her eyes wide, inspecting him. Like an alien observing a specimen it has just captured, her gaze follows the length of his body intensely, from his blond ringlets tinged with blood all the way down to his ripped up Converse sneakers.

She notices his eyelids fluttering, fighting to stay open. _Why hasn't he healed yet?_ she wonders. _He should be back to his peachy psychopathic self by now. _Violet leans down to take a closer look.

His jaw slack, she wipes his bloody lip with her thumb. Looking at her thumb, she follows the blood as it traces the outline of her fingerprint, sifting into grooves unique only to her. Out of morbid curiosity, she puts the blood to her lips. It permeates them, coating the dry, cracked skin. She expects to gag, but strangely, there was something about the way it tastes so familiar; it tastes like her blood.

Looking back at Tate, she can see that he is beginning to heal, the blood coagulating backwards into the neck wound that is fading rapidly. When his neck is intact again, Tate's eyelids whip open and he lets out a heaving gasp, breathing new life into his lungs. _Just like a cat, but with a million fucking lives, _she thinks, shaking her head. Suddenly, his arm juts out and he grabs hold of Violet's ankle. She screams, terrified, and drops the scalpel that was in her hand.

As he regains his strength, Tate reaches over and grabs her thigh with his other arm, securing his hold. _"Tate, let GO of me!"_ she screams. Violet struggles to break free with all her resolve, but to no avail. A scrappy fighter, she digs her sharp fingernails into his winces, but doesn't loosen his grip._ "Violet calm down, I'm not going to hurt you!"_

But Violet refuses to listen. With her free leg, she makes an attempt to jump over his body and out the doorway, but she slips on the bloody floor. Tate catches her, grabbing her hips and she lands straddling his groin. He lets out an _"oomph!"_, as the wind is knocked out of him. Unaffected, Violet thrashes about, pounding her fists on his chest, but he grabs both of her ankles so that she can't stand up. _"Violet, just STOP!"_ he yells. Knowing that she wouldn't be able to break free, she stops moving. Catching her breath, Violet screams directly into Tate's face, her lungs on fire: _"Fuck you, asshole!"_

"_Will you just calm down for one freaken second?"_ he pleads. But she didn't want to calm down. She wanted to hurt him over and over again. She wanted to throw glass shards at him, gauge his eyes out, choke him, stab him, hang him off of meat hooks, light him on fire. Unable to fully calm down, her eyes scan wildly around the room. Blowing blond strands of hair out of her face, she sees the scalpel out of the corner of her eye on the floor next to them. Before Tate can utter a sound, she twists her body and lunges for the scalpel. Securing her fist around the handle, Violet raises the scalpel up, aiming to plunge it into Tate. He grabs her wrists, and they wrestle for control of the scalpel. Tate's face, dripping with sweat, is red and puffy from the brawl. Shaking, he tries to push the blade away from his face, but the downward pressure that Violet applies is too overpowering.

"_Violet, please! I…I don't know what I've done…"_ he stammers. She stops cold. Her eyes narrow. _"You don't know what you've DONE?" _she screams in bewilderment. She sticks the pointed blade underneath his chin. Frightened, he begins to take little rapid breaths out of his nostrils, his mouth trembling. _"You ruined me! You ruined my life!_ _You ripped my heart out of my chest and all I'm left to do is kick it around this hell hole. Now, I'm going to bestow that same kindness upon you—except not metaphorically." _

Violet adjusts herself so that all of her weight is on top of him. She leans down, her breath on his face, her mouth inches from his. Tate looks at her with true fear in eyes. Her erratic behavior makes him ill at ease. She turns her head and whispers in his ear: _"I'm going to perform a special surgery. You see, while you spend your time sulking in the basement or choking out Hayden, I've been keeping busy around here." _She sits up and smiles wickedly at him._ "I've been to visit your friend, Dr. Charles Montgomery. And he's been teaching me all kinds of new tricks."_ Violet says this sweetly, as she drags the scalpel across Tate's chest.

Tate gulps. _"Please Vi, don't do this." _he implores nervously. _"Let's see…how many incisions should I make?" _Violet says, ignoring his plea. She twists the scalpel between her fingers like she's rolling a baton. _"How about one for every life you've destroyed? Hmm…that means we're gonna be here for awhile."_

Her violence shakes him. Tate considers crying, screaming, begging her to stop. He knows that if she sees him suffering long enough, her empathetic nature would kick in and she would probably abandon this futile, albeit, designed attempt at being evil. He knows that her soul does not have the inclination to be this way. Not the way that his does.

But strangely, he also understands that she _has _to do this. And so he lets her. He even makes it easy for her. When she begins slicing his sternum, he clenches his teeth from the throbbing pain, but manages to let out a chuckle, his voice dripping with sarcasm, _"Gee Vi, I didn't know you had it in ya." _This makes her more angry, vindictive, and vengeful. She pushes the blade down even harder.

He grows silent and lets her enact her poetic revenge, lets her bring the proverbial lamb to the slaughter. This was light years from the way he imagined their reunion to be, but he would take her any way he could get her.

Violet was becoming distracted by Tate's compliance and his loving glances in between the bouts of excruciating pain and consciousness. _Why isn't he trying to stop me? What the hell is he thinking?_ She shifts uncomfortably and tries to focus on the task at hand. _Agh, with his sick, twisted mind, he's probably getting his rocks off from this_. She quickly replaces these thoughts with the gory aim of her mission—to reach into his cavernous corpse and crush his heart; to feel the veins pop and seep between her fingers; to tear out whatever was left and fling it as far as her range of motion would let her, deep into an endless abyss if she could.

It was payback. A desperate act of retribution. Her own tattered form of redemption. Most of all, it was what was warranted, given the pain and grief that he had inflicted upon her and her family, upon all the lost souls of this house with his planted lies, his premeditated actions, and his selfish motives.

However, Violet ultimately knows that this "payback" and any others that she could orchestrate would only provide her temporary relief. He would always come back whole again, and to her utter dismay, even more in love with her.

Violet wipes the sweat from her brow with her forearm. Finishing all the necessary incisions, she gets ready to claw her way into his open chest. She takes once last glance at him.

_Hold on.  
>Hold on to yourself.<br>This is gonna hurt like hell. _

As she thinks this, she is unsure if the warning is for Tate or for herself.

* * *

><p>"<em>Do you feel better?"<em> he croaks dryly, rubbing his chest. _"Actually… I do."_ she says. Violet was standing, leaning against the doorway of the bathroom with her arms crossed, an amusing smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

"_Good, well I'm glad someone does."_ he replies acerbically, rising slowly off the ground and wiping his hands on his jeans. Tate casually pushes aside the hair that fell into his eyes and shoots Violet an annoyed look. _"So, are we done here? Or do you have any other killer surprises for me?"_

She shrugs indifferently. Tate begins to walk out of the room, his shoulders hunched. As he walks through the doorway past her, Violet stares at the blood splatter on the wall where she had flung his heart; she remembers hearing the dense organ land with a thud in the white tub. She looks down at her tiny hands that took hold of his heart, that felt the rhythm of its apex beat, and that ripped the life out of him. A life that ironically, didn't exist.

"_Tate, wait." _she says. He turns and looks back at her, his face blank and unmoving.

"_You know you deserved this, right?" _she says haughtily, her arms still crossed, her face full of judgment. _"Yes." _he says flatly.

"_And you know that I had to do this, right?" _she says. _"Yeah, I know." _he responds.

"_Is that why you didn't say anything? Why you didn't try to stop me?"_

"_I need to atone for what I've done. If this is part of it, then so be it."_ he says matter-of-factly.

Violet stares at him inquisitively, trying to figure out if what he was speaking the truth. She couldn't tell. _"What's with you and this atonement kick lately? Are you that bored?"_ she asks.

Tate looks at her, fatigued. _"No, I'm not bored. I'm tired. I'm tired of hurting people. I'm tired of being tortured. I just want to exist in peace for once and for all."_

"_You? Tortured? That's a racket."_ Violet snorts. Her blatant refusal to believe him hurts him. _"You wouldn't understand." _he says simply. _"You don't know what it's like to have done horrible, despicable things and not be able to take them back. To want forgiveness so badly."_

"_Some things are unforgivable."_ Violet snaps. _"You're right." _he says lowly, looking down at the floor. _"But I might as well try and make amends…make right of whatever I can of the mess that I've made."_

"_There isn't enough time in eternity for you to do that_." Violet says vilely through gritted teeth, her eyes watering.

"_Violet, all we have is time and nothing else."_

She glares at him, hot tears streaming down her cheeks. _"How dare you? How dare you say these things to me—to my parents? How dare you ask for forgiveness?"_ Her temper was rising. _"You don't deserve it—any of it! You don't deserve the talks that you have with my dad, or the pardon that you've received from my mom, or…or any of the thoughts that I have about you!"_

For the first time in the conversation, Tate looks straight at her._ "You think about me?"_ he asks quietly.

Violet should have caught herself before she made this admission. But she was too irate and confused. Her typical cool detachment was caught off guard and she felt out of control. She didn't understand the whirlwind of emotions that arose within her when she saw him again. After all these years, he was finally here, standing in front of her. He was close enough to smell, to taste, to touch. Her mind and heart were battling each other for domination; she was in a feverish state.

"_I think about all the destruction you've caused. I think about how your love was never genuine." _she says._ "That's not true—"_ Tate begins to interject, but Violet cuts him off. _"Genuine love is not filled with secrets and lies and evil."_

"_I know I told lies Vi, but they were steeped in truth. I couldn't let you know everything for fear of what could happen to you. I was trying to protect you."_ he states adamantly. _"BULLSHIT!"_ she screams. _"You were only trying to protect yourself! You were hoping that I wouldn't see you for the monster that you really are. But what did you expect? That you'd be able to keep up the charade for all time?"_

"_I didn't know that I was going to fall in love with you!"_ he yells back, exasperated. "_I didn't know that you would change me, that you would make me want to change." _

Violet laughs._ "Change, schmange. You didn't fall in love with me. You manipulated me! You preyed on my innocent, teenage-first-love-emotions thing. Well, bravo to you Tate! You knew just how to play me." _she says bitingly.

He looks at her incredulously._ "Is that what you've thought all these years?" _he says with bewilderment. He walks over to her and takes hold of her forearms, caressing her skin with his thumbs. She flinches at his touch. He gazes into her eyes and says with all seriousness, _"No, Vi, I never played you. If you choose to believe only one thing of me, believe this: everything I felt for you was real._ _And it's still as real as the first time I saw you."_ Tate moves a strand of hair away from Violet's face. He tilts his head and a small smile creeps upon his lips. _"Do you even understand how much I love you? How you consume me?" _he says tenderly.

"_Tate, you can't just throw around some mushy speech and think that is how you show your love for me." _Tate looks at Violet, confused._ "__Love needs to be shown through actions that are sincere, not through empty words._ _If you really loved me, you would have never lied to me—about anything! You would have told me the truth; about the house, about your past. You should have told me about your death—God Tate, you should have at least told me about mine!" _

"_I did!" _he whimpers. _"No. You only did when it was too late." _Violet shoots back, pushing his hands off of her.

"_I didn't want to lose you."_ Tate looks down at the floor, shuffling his feet. _"Well, I guess that backfired, didn't it?"_ Violet replies sharply.

"_I guess it did."_ he says solemnly. He walks over the right side of her bed and sits on the edge, keeping his feet on the ground. He stares out the window. _"You don't think that I agonize over the mistakes that I made with you? That I should have told you everything? I wanted to, but I was too deep into it and couldn't bear the thought of you hating me. So I made my choice. And it was the wrong one. It stole me away from the only thing I've ever wanted._ _I'm stuck for all eternity being close enough to touch you, but never being able to reach you." _Tate puts his head in his hands and sobs.

Violet didn't know how to respond. She stood there, her hand gripping the brass bedpost. Staring at his figure, a shell of a boy, small and feeble, lost and alone, Violet couldn't believe it, but she felt sad for him. Tate was not lying to her or trying to manipulate her now. He had no reason to. She still did not fully trust his intentions, but she could see that he was genuinely suffering. For so long, she was certain that his wretched afterlife was a well-deserved jail sentence; but now she was starting to believe that this could be a chance at redemption.

Despite her better judgment, Violet walks over and stands in front of Tate. She strokes his hair. Startled, he looks up at her with teary, puppy dog eyes. "_Did you ever think that if you had told me the truth about everything, that maybe I wouldn't have hated you… that maybe you wouldn't have lost me?"_ she says softly, looking deep into his eyes. He doesn't answer, but leans his head forward, sobbing into her shirt and wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her in close.

* * *

><p>"<em>Do you have any three's?"<em> she asks. Tate looks at the cards in his hand, and then at her with a smile, but shakes his head. _"Go fish." _he saysplayfully._ "Damn you!"_ Violet says, punching his arm. _"You fooled me."_ Tate laughs. Violet's stomach does little somersaults as she notices his deep dimples. She missed this. Hanging out, playing cards like they used to. Like normal teenagers who didn't have a care in the world. Except they were anything but normal, and should have been grown adults by now.

"_Ha ha, laugh it up. It's your turn douche bag."_ she says wryly. _"Do you have any five's?"_ Tate asks. _"Nope." _Violet says quickly. Tate looks at her disbelievingly. He raises an eyebrow. _"What?"_ Violet says innocently. _"I think you're lying through your teeth."_ Tate says grinning. _"I'm not."_ Violet says straight-faced. He leans over, trying to see the cards in her hand. _"I swear, I'm not!" _Violet says moving her hand so he can't see her cards.

"_We'll see about that!"_ Tate says, as he lunges forward, trying to grab the cards out of her hand. Violet leans back on the bed, holding her cards up in the air so he can't see them. _"Tate…stop!"_ Violet says in between giggles. Unintentionally, Tate leans his whole body on top of hers, reaching for the cards. He grabs them and looks. _"I knew it! Liar!"_ he states. As their laugher dies down, they realize the position that their bodies are in. Tate's face is inches from Violet's. For a second, they both become lost in each other's eyes, their breathing slow. Tate blinks, and smiles sweetly at Violet. She returns a coy smile.

Tate suddenly pushes himself up off of her, and mumbles an apology. To avoid the awkwardness, he gets up off the bed and reaches into his back pants pocket. _"I got something for you."_ he says proudly. He took out a box and threw it to Violet. She catches it and looks down. _"Cigarettes? Nice! Thanks, I've been jonesing for them forever." "I know." _Tate replied. _"I hope they're not stale. I've been saving them since Halloween."_

Violet wastes no time. She walks over to the window sill and immediately lights one. She closes her eyes as she inhales deeply, savoring the smoke that fills her lungs. She exhales a large, steady stream of smoke out the window. _"Ahh…I so needed that!" _she says dreamily. Tate stands in the middle of the room silent, watching Violet smoke. He notices the change in her demeanor right away; her whole body becomes calm.

Violet stares out the window on the sun filled street. _"Don't you ever wish you could just go outside and walk around?"_ she laments. _"It doesn't even have to be anywhere exciting, you know, just around the block? Where you can smell the freshly cut grass, hear the birds chirping, watch some annoying kids run around, even step in some dog shit? _She takes another long puff of her cigarette. "_Hmm, I would give anything to step in some dog shit. Crazy, huh?" _she says with a sad smile as she turns to look at Tate.

An innocent remark like this sends Tate into an immediate depression. He stares at the floor, not acknowledging her comment. _"Tate?"_ Violet says. He is still unresponsive. _"Tate!"_ Violet says louder. He looks up, brought back into the world by her voice. _"Sorry, what did you say?" _he says, distracted._ "Nothing. Just forget it."_ Violet answers.

She walks back to the bed and sits down. He follows her. He begins to clean up the mess of cards scattered all over the bed. _"Are you OK?"_ Violet says softly.

"_I couldn't save you."_ he says bluntly. _"I never wished death for you. I never wanted this for you. Rotting in this house for eternity–like me. Yes, I wanted you for always, but I always wanted you to be free."_

"_Look, it is what it is. My family is here with me. I'm happy here." _Violet says unconvincingly.

Tate shoots her a "yeah right" look. Violet sighs. _"Well, what do you want me to say? It's sort of true…" _

Tate is lost in thought, shuffling the deck of cards. _"Nothing. Never mind. You're right, there's no use in talking about this. Wanna play another round?"_ he says cheerily, in an attempt to changing the subject. _"Sure." _Violet replies gratefully. _"I need to reclaim my title as queen of Go Fish."_

But while they played, Tate was still thinking about what Violet said. He knows that she isn't happy. And he knows that it's his eternal mission to find a way to make her happy again. He just doesn't know how yet.

* * *

><p>Violet was sitting downstairs in the kitchen working on a crossword puzzle. The sun was shining through the window onto her face. She lifts her head up, closes her eyes, and basks in its warmth. When she opens her eyes, Moira is standing across from her. Violet is taken aback from her sudden appearance. <em>"Whoa Moira, didn't know you were a creeper."<em> she says jokingly.

"_How are you doing Miss Violet?"_ Moira asks with a serious face as she begins to clean the counter. _"Fine."_ Violet says, attending to her crossword puzzle. _"I haven't seen you in awhile. You've been busy?" _Moira says inquisitively. _"I guess." _Violet says, not looking up from her crossword puzzle.

"_You know, I've noticed that the mood in this house has changed a bit in the past few weeks. Not so much doom and gloom. Could it be because you have reconciled with that boy?"_ Moira says with disdain.

Violet drops her pencil and looksstraight at her._ "That boy has a name."_ she replies coolly. Moira could sense Violet's defense shields rising, but she ignores this and presses on.

She stops wiping the counter and walks over to Violet. _"Miss Violet, do you know what you're doing?" _Moira says, concerned. _"Going back with him is a grave mistake! People—dark spirits like him do not change. They cannot change."_

"_Maybe they can. Maybe Tate can. Maybe he already has."_

Moira shakes her head sadly._ "I've known Tate for a long time. Much longer than you, dear. There are no redeeming qualities in him. He is a bad seed sprung forth from an evil root. No good can come out of this."_

"_You're wrong."_ Violet says defiantly. She was surprised at the strong tone that her words took. It was if she was trying to convince herself more than Moira.

"_Please, child, do not be so naïve again! Haven't you learned anything?"_she says harshly.

Violet is silent. Moira sighs._ "I know you will not listen to me. But all I'm telling you is to be careful. He is not to be trusted. He will hurt you again."_

"_Thanks for the warning Moira, but I don't need it. I can take care of myself."_ Violet says, storming off, refusing to hear anymore from Moira.

"_I hope you're right, Ms. Violet."_ Moira says under her breath, as she watches Violet's figure become smaller and smaller as she walks farther down the hall.

* * *

><p>As Violet enters her bedroom, she turns her iPod on and throws herself onto the bed. Lying on her back, with her hands crossed over her stomach, Violet stares at the ceiling. She closes her eyes, drifting in and out of sleep, listening to the music. <em>There's a possibility<em>_…__All that I had was all I'm gonna get…_

Flashes of Tate enter her mind. It had been a few weeks since their friendship had been restored. They had been spending time together almost every day but avoided all talk of serious conversation. _So tell me when you hear my heart stop__…__You're the only one who knows…_

Although Violet was miffed, Moira's warning came creeping into her thoughts. Was there really no hope for Tate? Was she being suckered all over again? Things were good so far, but Violet was always waiting for the other shoe to drop. _Tell me when you hear my silence__…__There's a possibility I wouldn't know…_

To this day, she still could not understand his infatuation with her. Why did he insist on loving her so? _By blood and by me, you walk like a thief…_She wasn't the lovable kind. But then again, neither was he. Two unlovable souls who could only love each other. _By blood and by me, I fall when you leave…_

Tate enters Violet's room. He sees her sleeping on her side. He gently sets himself on the bed, and lies down next to her, his long, lean body facing hers. He can smell the sweet scent of her hair; see the rise and fall of her bosom. He stares at her reverently. She was his angel; of that he was certain. He was in constant awe of her. But with this awe came constant fear as well. That she would reject him again. That she would snap her heart shut before he could make his way inside again. That she would banish him back into the intangible darkness again.

There was also constant guilt present; he knew Violet's tendency to put on a strong face, to act as if nothing ever fazed her, when in reality, she was the most sensitive person he knew. Spending time with her again these past few weeks, there were moments where he could see the scar tissue that remained from what he had put her through. It killed him, knowing that his actions were forever marked on her in the worst way possible. But he vowed to make it right. Even if it took an eternity, he would make it right.

Violet stirs and interrupts his thoughts. He smiles. Instinctively, he reaches out and delicately traces the curve of her lips with his thumb. _"Doubt that the stars are fire, doubt that the sun doth move, doubt truth to be a liar, but never doubt I love."_ he murmurs. She suddenly opens her mouth and bits the tip of his finger. _"Oww!"_ he says, pulling his finger away. _"Creep."_ she says sleepily, her eyes still closed, a smile on her lips. Tate chuckles. _"I would call myself an admirer, not a creep." "Po-tay-toe, po-tah-toe" _she replies._ "Either way, still creepy."_

"_How long have you been awake?"_ he asks, burying his face into a pillow. _"Just a few minutes."_ They lay side by side staring into each other's eyes, silent for awhile. Violet breaks the ice. _"Tate, can I ask you something?" _she asks hesitantly. _"You can ask me anything." _

Violet takes a deep breath before asking,_ "What did you do? For the past ten years?"_ She wasn't sure if she wanted to know the answer, but she was sure that she needed to know.

Tate sat up halfway, placing his elbow on the pillow, his head in his hand. _"Not much really. Moped around a lot. Played with Beauregard sometimes. Hung out with Hayden." _

Violet gave a disgusted look. _"Hey, she's not that bad. She can be a bitch, but—"_ Tate starts to say.

"—_but she had an affair with my dad and then killed him."_ Violet finishes dryly, sitting up. _"Yeah…that…sorry."_ Tate says apologetically.

"_You didn't seem that sorry when you were choking her."_ Violet mumbles. "_What did you say?" _he asks, his face confused. _"I saw you. You got mad at her and you were choking her!" _Violet says accusingly.

Tate's natural instinct was to lie to her, to pretend like he didn't know what she was talking about. But he knew his eternal happiness rested upon her loving him, and her loving him rested upon his being honest. _"Violet, you know how she can be…she provokes me. Especially when it comes to you." _he says defensively._ "That's not an excuse Tate! I had never seen you like that! Your anger and violence…it scared the hell outta me. I can't be with you if you're going to be that way behind my back. Like before." _Violet says, her eyes shifting downward.

"_Violet, please don't be scared. You know that I would never be that way with you."_ he says gently. _"I know that. But I don't want you to be that way with anyone."_ she replies.

"_I'm not. I won't. I don't want to hurt anyone anymore. I told you, I've changed. All because of you."_ He reaches out to caress her hand._ "I swear, I didn't hurt anyone during that time. No humans, no ghosts. Hayden was the only one."_ Tate says.

Violet looks at him suspiciously, but decides to give him the benefit of the doubt. _"That's good_ _Tate. I was afraid for you…"_ she says, her voice trailing. "_You being impressed that I didn't kill or maim anyone? How sad is that?" _he remarks sheepishly.

"_It's progress."_ Violet says, giving him a sad smile. She slowly pulls her hand away from his grasp. Tate notices and gives her a questioning look.

"_Is everything OK?"_ he asks. _"Sure."_ she says nonchalantly. _"Violet…"_ he says, casting her a tell-me-what's-really going-on look.

"_It's just that, I'm a bit uncomfortable. Things are moving really fast. We're just starting to get to know each other again."_

"_Violet, I already know you." _he says, cupping her face in his hands._ "You're perfect. There's nothing left for me to find out except to just enjoy you and your company."_

"_No Tate, I'm not perfect—far from it. You have to accept that or you'll never really know me." _She pauses, removing his hands from her face. _"We've both changed these past ten years. What if we're not compatible anymore? What if we're just together because we have no one else?"_

"_Are you saying you don't want to be with me?"_ Tate says, panic-stricken. _"I don't know."_ she says._ "I don't know what I want." _Violet looks down at her hands, fidgeting with the edge of the pillow.

"_You wanted me once…you can want me again." _he says softly. "_Remember the first time we made love? How intense it was? How beautiful? It's still there, Violet, I know it is."_

"_I'm just…I'm just confused right now." _she states._ "No."_ Tate says bluntly. _"You're not confused. You're just afraid. You're afraid of being with me. You're afraid of being happy with me."_ he says, his expression pained.

"_That's not true!" _Violet says in defense.

"_Oh no? Do you know that the only time you ever told me that you loved me was when you told me to go away?" _

Violet blinked. She never realized that. _"It doesn't mean that I didn't feel that way when we were together." _she says quietly, her eyes refusing to meet his.

Tate sighs, looking up at the ceiling. After a moment of reflection, he tries for a compromise._ "I can leave you alone for awhile, if that's what you want. Is that what you want?"_

"_Yes…No…I don't know!" _Violet says, confused.

"_Violet, if we can forgive each other and withstand the bad in each other, then we can withstand anything."_ his hopeful eyes spoke volumes.

"_That's just it, Tate. I've tried so hard but…I can't…"_ she says sadly. She didn't need to finish the sentence; Tate could finish it for her.

"_Vi, you have to forgive me." _

Silence.

"_You have to forgive me."_ he repeats.

Violet shakes her head.

"_You have to forgive me."_ he says, louder and stronger.

"_Please, you have to forgive me." _

She looks at him, her eyes welling up with tears.

"_You have to forgive me, Vi."_ his voice breaks, his eyes red-rimmed.

"_You have to forgive me!"_ he pleads.

Violet closes her eyes and covers her ears.

"_Vi, look at me. You have to forgive me or we'll never be able to move on_." he stresses.

"_I can't Tate!"_ she sobs.

"_Vi-"_

"_GO AWAY!"_ she screams. The instant she said it, she knew that she didn't mean it. Tate didn't try to object. She wasn't ready yet. He lowers his head and disappears.

She opens her eyes and removes her hands from her ears. She stares at the empty space next to her, unnerved by his missing presence._ "I'm so sorry…I love you."_ she whispers to no one, shaking.

* * *

><p>Frustrated, Violet huffs and puffs, tosses and turns. Sleep, or lack thereof, is proving to be no escape. Her blankets and sheets, once an oasis, have dried up into a thorny nest hatching fitful bouts of sleep. Even if she could sleep soundly, she doesn't get to wake up and say that her last encounter with Tate was only a dream. She doesn't get to feel that euphoria of being spared.<p>

Violet throws the mess of bed covers off of her body, sweating and suffocating from the heat and staleness of her room. She replays their last conversation over and over in her head. Her way back to Tate has been a labyrinth full of winding roads, steep cliff drops, and roadblocks all along a beaten pathway. She was spending the present fearing the past; it made her cautious of every step she took, like she was surrounded by mousetraps ready to snap, crackle, and pop all around her.

Her mind travels back to ten years ago, when the weight of their love demised was an entity that crushed her. It was a meteor that scorched the rough earth, transforming their sweet beginnings into a frenetic end. And within the remains of a dying fire were wicked embers that cooled into somber blue ashes.

What was she to do with those charred ashes now? How can she reignite a relationship that had deteriorated beyond recognition?

Exhausted and distraught, Violet cries into her pillow. She knew he was watching, but she didn't care. Flares of sadness shoot between them, in and out of the darkness, breaking the stillness. In the distance, she could hear him sobbing along with her.

* * *

><p>Violet awakes to the sound of running water. Lying face down, she pushes herself off of her pillow and flips over to her back. Strips of sunlight were forcing their way into the bedroom through the slatted window shades. She groans, turns her head away from the window, and crooks her elbow over her eyes to avoid the glare. <em>Why the hell do I hear water? Is someone taking a shower? <em>she thinks. Violet yawns, and rubs her eyes.

She removes her bed covers and swings her legs onto the floor. _Hmm…I don't remember putting my bed covers back on. Weird. _She stands up, yawns again, and stretches her arms out wide. She looks over to her bathroom. The door is closed and the light is on. Someone was definitely in there. Violet walks over and knocks. No answer. As she turns the knob and opens the door, a huge cloud of steam hits her in the face. Coughing, Violet says, "_Mom, I love you, but you've got to stop using my bathroom."_ As she steps in, she sees the shower curtain pushed to the side; the shower is running, but no one is in the tub. Violet is confused. _"What is going on?" _she says.

She runs to the shower and turns off the faucet. _"Ow!"_ she says, as she pulls her hand back and shakes off some hot water droplets that land on her hand. She grabs a hand towel and wipes her hands. She turns to the sink, and lifts the towel to the bathroom mirror to wipe the fog off. She stops, noticing writing on the mirror:

I STILL LOVE YOU

Violets eyes widen. She takes a few steps back and covers her open mouth with her hand. It takes her a minute to register what she is seeing. Just like on the chalkboard all those years ago.

Her eyes move down to the sink. Lying in the sink was a single red rose. She picks up the rose and admires its vivid redness, rubbing its soft petals between her fingers. Taped to the note was a post-it. The scribbled note simply stated: _I was the first boy to ever give you a flower, and I hope to be the last. _Violet smiles, reminiscing their first old her, the living her, had desired a black rose, one that wasn't normal, that was dark, and broke all the rules of convention. Now that she was dead, all she craved was to be normal, to be as vibrant and alive as the red rose she held. In that moment, she realizes that Tate understands her more than she had given him credit for. She had been afraid that he was stuck in time, still in love with the old Violet. But this proved that he knew the new Violet inside and out, maybe even better than she knew her new self.

The steam in the room has cleared and she notices a pink heart shaped box on the toilet seat cover. She opens it. Written on the inside of the box cover in black Sharpie marker was a quote she recognized from her English Lit class when they studied _Romeo and Juliet_: _My bounty is as boundless as the sea, My love as deep; the more I give to thee, The more I have, for both are infinite._

Violet's heart begins to swell. She looks inside the box and sees a piece of jewelry – a silver necklace with a pendant in the shape of a black coffin. Violet opens up the pendant. The letters "T" and "V" were scratched inside the silver. _Haha, how sick are we?_ she chuckles to herself, shaking her head.

Beneath the necklace was another folded piece of paper. She unfolds it, and squints her eyes to read the text that, probably carefully written, ended up in bad penmanship. She knew how hard Tate probably tried, but his writing was always chicken scratch. She recognizes this piece; a poem written by Lord Byron, a favorite of Tate's that he used to read aloud to her.

**Remind me not, remind me not**

Remind me not, remind me not,

Of those beloved, those vanish'd hours,

When all my soul was given to thee;

Hours that may never be forgot,

Till Time unnerves our vital powers,

And thou and I shall cease to be.

Can I forget-canst thou forget,

When playing with thy golden hair,

How quick thy fluttering heart did move?

Oh! by my soul, I see thee yet,

With eyes so languid, breast so fair,

And lips, though silent, breathing love.

When thus reclining on my breast,

Those eyes threw back a glance so sweet,

As half reproach'd yet rais'd desire,

And still we near and nearer prest,

And still our glowing lips would meet,

As if in kisses to expire.

And then those pensive eyes would close,

And bid their lids each other seek,

Veiling the azure orbs below;

While their long lashes' darken'd gloss

Seem'd stealing o'er thy brilliant cheek,

Like raven's plumage smooth'd on snow.

I dreamt last night our love return'd,

And, sooth to say, that very dream

Was sweeter in its phantasy,

Than if for other hearts I burn'd,

For eyes that ne'er like thine could beam

In Rapture's wild reality.

Then tell me not, remind me not,

Of hours which, though for ever gone,

Can still a pleasing dream restore,

Till Thou and I shall be forgot,

And senseless, as the mouldering stone

Which tells that we shall be no more.

She looks up in the mirror and sees Tate standing behind her, silent, waiting to see her reaction. She looks at him teary-eyed but smiling, giddy with love. He smiles back. Embarrassed by her unusually animated display of affection, she looks down at the sink and wipes her tears away. When she looks up again, he was gone.

Violet stares at herself in the mirror. She picks up the necklace and puts it on. She runs her fingers along her protruding collarbone, admiring the way it falls onto the backdrop of her ivory skin.

Since Violet was not the best at expressing her emotions, and didn't know any classic 19th century romanticism poets, she hoped that some modern song lyrics would be able to do the emoting for her. She wrote Tate back, citing lyrics from one of her favorite Counting Crow songs:

I am colorblind

Coffee black and egg white

Pull me out from inside

I am ready

I am ready

I am ready

I am…

Taffy stuck, tongue tied

Stuttered shook and uptight

Pull me out from inside

I am ready

I am ready

I am ready

I am...fine

I am covered in skin

No one gets to come in

Pull me out from inside

I am folded, and unfolded, and unfolding

I am…

Colorblind

Coffee black and egg white

Pull me out from inside

I am ready

I am ready

I am ready

I am...fine

I am... fine

I am fine

At the bottom of the note, Violet wrote:

I'm ready to forgive. I'm ready to be happy with you.

It's you and me. Together for always.

I love you.

-V


	6. Pandora's Box

**Once again, I'm so sorry for leaving so much time between this chapter and my last. I know I'm forever apologizing…I hope that this chapter will make up for my lack of swift writing. As always, reviews are welcome. Enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Hood by Perfume Genius<strong>

_You would never call me baby_

_If you knew me truly_

_Oh but I waited so long for your love_

_I am scared baby that I can't keep it up for long_

_Boy I wish I grow up the second_

_I first held you in my arms_

_Underneath this hood you kiss_

_I tick like a bomb_

_You would never call me baby_

_If you knew me truly_

_Oh but I waited so long for you love_

_I will fight baby not to do you wrong_

Violet's room is dark when Tate enters. It is not pitch black, but a venous purple, like the marking of a deep bruise. He can barely make out the shapes in the room except for one; like a moth to a flame, the path to her was overpowering, instinctually directing him towards a light that only he could see—the only light he's ever known.

He stands at the edge of her bed as he's done so many times before. He coils his fingers around the brass frame so tightly his knuckles turn white. He does this to hold himself up, for he is afraid that the sight of her will make him fall to his knees. She is lying on her side, her back facing him. He watches as her slender back rises and falls as she breathes in and out. Though each breath is lovelier than the last, Tate cannot help but feel a profound sadness, for he knows that each of those glorious breaths is not real.

Suddenly, a voice calls out to him from the darkness: "Hey douche bag, are you gonna stand there like a goon and watch me all night, or are you gonna come in?" Violet says without turning around. Tate smiles. His ever-tactful Violet. He thought he could get away with some nighttime gazing (or "creeper time" as she calls it), but she was too perceptive. He's been caught. Maybe he had been too noisy when he entered her room; he silently cursed himself for waking her from her slumber. Or maybe she had been waiting up for him. An implausible consideration, he thinks; yet nevertheless, one that sends a shiver of enticement shooting down his spine.

Tate stealthily slips under the covers. Although he only had to reach a few feet across the bed for Violet, it was as if he was trekking across the Sahara towards a distant oasis. He wraps himself around her, spooning her, his body fitting perfectly around hers. Underneath the crumpled sheets, Violet is swathed in a cocoon, tethered to Tate's side. They lay like this for awhile, and the cadence of their breathing becomes one. His body is relaxed, his mind is clear, and his aura is peaceful for the first time in 10 years.

Illuminating the darkness are thin beams of cool blue light that seep through the shutters. Tate is comforted by the luminance, evocatively reminiscent of his nights on the beach where he spent countless hours immersed in deep thought and contemplation, consumed with overwhelming sensation and emotion, and no way to make sense of it all.

Tate closes his eyes and is transported back to the beach. A gentle breeze crosses his face and he can smell the potent perfume of the sea air enveloping the unforgiving waves as they crest and shatter on the restless rocks. He gazes toward the harrowing night sky, at the pinpoint of dim light reflecting beneath the moon. Bringing his eyes level with the horizon, he marvels as the pinpoint unravels into a bright expanse, shooting straight across the ocean and onto the shore, bathing him in white radiance.

As he opens his eyes, Violet's shoulder blades and spine have become his shoreline in the moonlight. His only wish is to race across it, dive deep into her ocean, and drown in her creases and folds.

Ever so slightly, he drags his fingers seductively down her back, feeling her soft hairs stand on end. He places gentle kisses along the back of her elongated neck to the top of her spine where her hair hits. She stirs, but does not wake. He places his hand underneath her shirt, and rubs it along her soft, warm belly. She flinches at first, and he waits patiently until she is comfortable with his touch. He slowly moves his hand up her midsection and cups her breast. Violet lets out a sleepy moan.

At this, she turns around and looks at Tate longingly. She gently caresses his face, the moonlight shinning circled orbs within his dark eyes. He looks back at her with pure love. _"Violet, I love you so—" _he begins to say amorously. _"Shh…"_ Violet says, as she places her forefinger on his lips, silencing him before he was about to say what she knew he was about to say. _"Don't tell me how much you love me. Show me." _she whispers.

He searches her face for answers on what to do next. He has waited so long so for this, his insides ticking like a bomb on the verge of detonating. The corners of his lips quiver at the prospect of kissing her. He moves ever so slowly, and barely grazes his lips against hers. Violet exhales softly, her sweet breath filling his senses. Afraid he might devour her too swiftly, he takes her face in his hands and begins with soft and slow kisses, gradually moving into deeper and longer bouts of kissing.

With each lasting kiss, the frost that had formed over their ten-year winter melts. With each tender caress, the transgressions that had torn them apart are forgiven. They came together like thunder and lightning, rumbling beneath the sheets. Their bodies so entwined, it cannot be deciphered where hers ends and where his begins. Grabbing tufts of his soft hair within her fingers, Violet kisses Tate hard. HIs heart races and he responds hungrily; the passion surging within him singes Violet's skin.

Tate raises himself on top of Violet, his arms extended straight. She glides her hands over his bare chest as his gaze sears through her with a lover's intensity. He leans down to kiss her, his sharp hip bones rubbing against hers. As he begins to tug on her underwear, Violet jerks up from under him. _"Tate, no!"_ she says suddenly, stopping him. "_Is something wrong?" _he responds, puzzled. Violet bites her lower lip, hesitating. _"No…I…it's just..."_ she stutters. He looks at her, concerned. _"I'm sorry, I thought I was ready but I need more time before we…you know…again." _she says slowly. She refuses to look at him, afraid of seeing his reaction. Though these are different circumstances, she has rejected him. Again.

Tate is quiet. He pushes himself off of Violet and falls back onto the pillow, not saying a word. He raises his hands behind his head and stares up at the ceiling, which, through the tears welling in his eyes, deceptively appears to be undulating. Violet, embarrassed, lies down, and turns on her side to face him. She studies his unreadable face, waiting for him to respond. _"Tate?"_ she whispers. _"Are you mad?"_

"_Yes." _he responds coldly. Violet chokes back a sob. She's instantly transported back to the first moment they met—when the boy in the reflection so vilely told her that if she was trying to kill herself, she was doing it the wrong way. She remembers his callous tone, his complete and utter indifference to her welfare. Instead of being angry at him for interrupting her, she felt vulnerable and taken aback that a stranger—an asshole for sure, but an intriguing asshole, no doubt— could make her feel so ashamed and juvenile. She feels exactly like that again in this instance.

"_I'm mad at myself." _Tate continues._ "For moving too fast. I should have known better." _he says harshly, punishing himself. She watches as a single tear slopes down his cheek, knowing full well that his heart was splintering into a million pieces. _"Hey,"_ Violet says softly, wiping his cheek. _"There's no reason for you to be mad. It's nothing that you did. Believe me, I want to be with you as much as you want to be with me. I just need a little more time to get used to being 'us' again, that's all."_

"_You promise?"_ Tate says tearfully but with a twinge of hope. _"I promise."_ she says. _"For real this time."_ He smiles a megawatt smile at her. _"Come here." _he says softly. Violet leans in close for a kiss, but Tate rubs his nose across hers; a sweet and surprising Eskimo kiss. She laughs lightheartedly. Taking his face in her hands, his deep dimples burn holes into them. She kisses away the rest of his salty tears.

They caress each other and whisper things that they could not speak of in the light of day. He gnaws on her fingertips until she falls asleep.

* * *

><p>Tate feels as though he is walking on air. He has a pep in his step; a buoyancy about him. His skin no longer sallow, was glowing, radiating the heat left from their night together. Violet's declaration of requited love has left his body is in sensory overload, replete with a transparency that had never been present before. Amorous electricity jolts through his veins and ignites sparks behind his pupils, leading his dark eyes to shine with a fresh brightness and intensity. His fingertips pulsate and extend as if they can release white hot lightning bolts. He wishes to sustain this lively momentum forever; to bask in the glow of reunited love.<p>

Yet despite this newfound status, Tate cannot relinquish his scheming ways, no matter if it is for good or evil. It is all he knows—that, and what Violet is feeling. He knows her from the inside out. He knows all of her nuances, her ticks, and her frustrations—especially when she is putting on brave face; for him, for her family, for herself and her sanity. He can see the truth inside her heart, which is beating loudly her unhappiness with the situation that has been bestowed upon her. Doomed to be an eternal poltergeist. Coming from and going nowhere; stuck on repeat. Never moving on, even to be lost in an abyss. Her world consists of four walls encased in crumbling brick and chipping mortar, dulling wood and cracking stained glass.

But Tate thinks he has figured out a way to make Violet happy—at least temporarily, until he can come up with a permanent fix.

Tate's hand grips the doorknob to the basement. He stands there frozen for a minute, milling over whether to open this Pandora's box. He was, quite consciously, choosing to enter evil's lair—his old stomping ground—and he felt naked without any ammunition: the darkness, rage, and lack of remorse that had served as the most powerful and damaging weapons in his arsenal for so long. Now, they had all but dissipated into oblivion since Violet was back in his life and his existence had regained a meaning and a purpose again.

Tate takes a deep breath and gathers his resolve. As he slowly opens the door, it squeals, and a shaft of dim light creepily emerges, as if he was opening up a thousand-year-old tomb. Tate peers down into the darkness and sees nothing but black. He steps down onto the first step, his hand gripping the banister tightly. Each floorboard creaks underneath his feet as he descends with heavy steps. As he reaches the floor, he turns sharply around the corner. Before he can call out her name, Hayden appears directly in front of him. _"Shit!"_ Tate yells, smacking into Hayden. _"You scared me!"_

"_Sorry Rambo."_ Hayden replies deadpan. _"Were you looking for me?" _she continues without missing a beat, her head tilted to the side, peering up at him, while he catches his breath.

"_Uh, yeah. I was." _Squinting his eyes, Tate looks closely at Hayden, noticing her gaunt frame, sunken cheeks, pale skin, limp hair and dark circles under her eyes. _Jesus,_ _did I look like that? _he thinks, shuddering inside.

"_I must say, I'm surprised that you've made your way down here…what with all the reuniting that's been going on upstairs."_ Hayden says mockingly, slowly walking away from him, but looking at him over her shoulder.

"_Yeah…well…that's kinda why I'm here."_ Tate says lowly, nervously looking around the room, but keeping his back turned away from Hayden.

"_What could you possibly want from me? You have your little flower back. Isn't all right with the world now?" _Hayden smirks. She pauses, her eyes widening._ "Unless you're already bored with little miss perfect."_ Hayden says with a sly smile. _"You know that would never happen."_ Tate answers stiffly.

"_Forever is a long time you know…things could get old after a couple hundred years..."_ she says sing songy, her voice trailing off as she walks around the room, dragging her stubbed fingernails along the concrete wall.

"_Listen, I need to know where Chad and Patrick are." _Tate says hastily, itching to get out of the basement._ "Why?"_ Hayden says quickly. _"Didn't you already suck them off—sorry— I mean, beg them for their forgiveness?" _

Tate's stance immediately hardens, but he decides to ignore her nasty comment. _"I need to talk to them. About something else."_ Tate replies.

"_About what Rambo?"_ Hayden inquires. _"None of your business."_ Tate snaps. _"Ooh…testy, testy! Well, if you're going to have an attitude like that, I'm afraid I can't help you." _she says sarcastically in a high-pitched girly voice, blinking her eyes innocently.

"_Please."_ Tate says through gritted teeth. He hated begging, especially to Hayden, but he had to do this for Violet. He closes his eyes and pictures her beautiful face to calm his nerves and regain his composure.

Hayden stops and turns around. She was enjoying every minute of this while he was in pure agony. She walks around Tate in a circle, watching with amusement as he shifts uncomfortably, refusing to stare directly at her. She stops in front of Tate and drags her finger down his chest._ "You give me a clue and I'll give you a clue."_ she responds playfully.

Tate swats her hand away and lets out a frustrated sigh. _"I need to ask them about instructions on how to do something." _he snorts. _"What, on how to gently fuck your precious princess up the ass?" _She holds her side as she laughs hysterically at her own filthy joke.

Tate presses his lips together hard and his hands ball up into fists. Hayden notices. _"Oh come on, I kid, I kid."_ she says, lifting her hands up in a motion of surrender. _"I'm just trying to have a little fun with ya. It's been lonely since you left to play house with her." _she says sulking, plastering a fake frown across her face, trying unsuccessfully to garner some sympathy from him.

"_Are you going to help me or not?"_ Tate says, annoyed and unmoved by her childish antics. _"OK, OK." _she states. _"Well, I can tell you that they're not down here." _

"_Gee, what a clue." _Tate says sarcastically, rolling his eyes._ "It still counts."_ Hayden says pointing at him. _"Now you give me another clue." _she demands.

Tate hesitates before stating,_ "It's something dangerous that they've tried." _

"_Ooh, this sounds kinky!" _Hayden says, her eyes gleaming with fascination_. _She stands in front of Tate._ "Did the rubber suit get old? Need to spice things up a bit?"_ Hayden says with a wicked smile, wiggling her eyebrows. Tate shoots her an evil look.

"_You know, if you wanna sneak around with a real woman whenever you get bored with little Miss Priss..."_.She moves in closer and whispers into his ear: _"You know how horny I get. We can do all kinds of things you've never even dreamed of…" _she says seductively, running her thumb along the inside of his waistband.

Tate forcibly removes her hand from his waistband._ "Cut the crap, Hayden." _he says exhaustibly. She pushes him in the chest._ "Ugh, you always kill my buzz."_ she grumbles, walking away from him. Tate turns around and looks at her with a serious face._ "It's nothing sexual Hayden. But it is something dangerous—that you've tried too."_ he adds.

Hayden looks at him confused. After a few seconds, her eyes widen. _"You don't mean…"_ she says, trailing off. _"Yes. That's exactly what I mean." _Tate says matter-of-factly.

"_Tate, you remember what happened to me." _Hayden says, her voice cracking._ "I do." _he responds. _"And you still want to do it?" _she presses._ "I don't know. I want to ask them first. Then I'll talk to Violet and see if she's willing to try it."_

Hayden shakes her head._ "You're playing with fire Tate."_ she warns, serious for the first time in their conversation. _"You were fine after a few days."_ Tate says nonchalantly. _"Yeah, but it messed me up for awhile. Besides, you know it's not the right thing to do."_

"_Well, look who's the queen of morality all of a sudden."_ Tate says acerbically. _"No, but—" _Hayden starts to say. _"You owe me a clue."_ he interjects.

Hayden walks up to Tate and stares him straight in the face. She knew there was no point in arguing with him—his stubbornness was unparalleled only to her own. He would have to suffer the consequences when his plan blows up in his face. _"They're upstairs. In the library."_ she says with pursed lips, clearly troubled that she is giving this information away.

A look of relief washes over Tate's face. _"Thanks." _he says with a half -smile, lightly squeezing her arm. Hayden, taken aback by his unusually warm gesture, immediately steps back and looks down at the floor._ "Yeah, whatever. Don't say I didn't warn you." _she says bitingly.

Tate walks away and begins to ascend the stairs. _"Tate?" _Hayden calls out. He turns and looks back at Hayden. _"Why do you get to have your Harmon and I don't get to have mine?" _she asks spitefully, trying to mask the pain in her voice. _"The only reason I have Violet is because she decided to take me back." _he answers. _"And she loves me back." _he adds quietly. Tate didn't want to say that last part, but he needed Hayden to recognize the difference between his and Violet's true love and her and Ben's tawdry affair.

"_Well, she must be as fucked up as you then."_ Hayden sneers. Tate doesn't answer her. He looks at her with empathy.

"_Oh, don't give me that look of pity like you're better than me!" _she says repugnantly, her eyes on fire. "_You act all high and mighty like you don't belong here anymore with me and all your old cronies down here, but you know that's not true. You'll always be the same and she'll always see you that way. She'll never fully trust you. You'll never be good enough for her."_ she says with contempt.

"_You said to me once that she's wasn't into me anymore, that I'll never get back into her, and that she'll never talk to me again. You were wrong."_ Tate says matter-of-factly.

"_Just because you're back in her good graces doesn't mean that you'll stay there. She's only with you because she's stuck with you. Believe me, if she could leave she would. Before you could blink, she'd run the hell outta here so fast, you'd never see her again. If you go along with this idiotic plan you'll see that happen, I guarantee it. You're writing your own death sentence."_

"_She won't leave me. Besides, she deserves to be happy. And I can't be happy until she is." _Tate says as he walks away, seemingly unaffected by Hayden's words of warning.

"_You know if you do this, you could fuck it all up. Don't try to be the hero, Romeo. You already got her back. Just be happy with that." _Hayden says, imparting her final warning. _"You'll lose her all over again!" _Hayden yells callously as Tate slams the basement door shut.

Her last words ring in his ear and tattoo themselves in his consciousness. He would need to think very carefully about what he was going to do. He couldn't risk losing Violet again, and wouldn't survive the aftermath if that were to happen. Conversely, he wouldn't be able to live with himself if she was never truly happy again.

And with that, Tate knew that nothing else mattered. He would talk to Chad and Patrick tomorrow.


	7. Down the Rabbit Hole

**Down the Rabbit Hole**

_Where do I go from here  
>Or am I just a clock spinning round<br>Everything seems unclear  
>Confusion is raising it's head<br>And I can't make a sound  
>I feel it tearing at my soul While I'm asleep<br>I feel it driving me to something I'll regret_

_What if I make the change_  
><em>What if I lose all my courage<em>  
><em>This time<em>  
><em>Everything seems so strange<em>  
><em>Try but I can't seem to make a decision<em>  
><em>That's right<em>  
><em>I feel it pounding like a drum inside my brain<em>  
><em>I feel it if it doesn't stop I'll go insane<em>

_I feel it tearing at my soul while I'm asleep_  
><em>I feel it driving me to something I'll regret<em>  
><em>I feel it pounding like a drum inside my brain<em>  
><em>I feel it<em>  
><em>I feel it if it doesn't stop I'll go insane<em>

-State of Mind by Merrill Bainbridge

Tate psyches himself up with a sort of reckless composure. With a deep breath, he musters all of his strength to push open the heavy, splintered oak door of the library. Although not obliged to stay with each other for eternity, especially after Patrick's revelation of his ill-fated intentions to leave Chad, the duo mainly kept a peaceful co-existence amongst themselves in this conventional, lackluster room, complete with its gothic revival decor and deluge of dusty first editions.

Curling his long, thin fingers around the door frame, Tate warily peaks inside, his one brown eye straining to scan to dim room. The thick, dark, stained glass window panes posed as a challenge for sunlight to permeate, even on a cloudless day. With the coast ostensibly clear, Tate creeps over to a familiar tall, black walnut bookshelf. His shoelaces untied, Tate nearly trips over himself—_"Oomph!" _he mumbles—and lurches towards the bookcase, which breaks his fall. _Idiot…_he proclaims to himself, steadying his balance. Regaining his composure, Tate pushes his long, shaggy hair behind his ears and listens for any signs that he's been caught; he hears nothing.

The faint smell of musty books wafts in his nostrils. Momentarily distracted, Tate runs his fingers over the multitude of leather-bound books tightly packed within the shelf—classics that he's read hundreds of times over to help him pass the time—from Byron to Dickens, Austen to Chaucer. He was old school in his choices for pleasure reading, appreciating the timeless elegance of their written word and story plots. A flash of jealously surges within Tate, and he secretly scolds himself for not being quick enough to call dibs on this room.

His fingers stop at one book, which Tate carefully lifts up and opens. As he thumbs through the crinkled, yellow pages, a half smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, as he recollects reading passages from this aloud to Violet, the book placed steady in the palm of his one hand, while the fingers of his other hand absentmindedly twirled her soft locks. With her head in his lap, her hair was splayed out in all directions, a silken, golden blanket spread across his knees; the sun shined down upon her alabaster face, turning her cheeks a flushed pink; her eyelids closed, she listened attentively to the cadence of his deep voice as he happily read verse after verse._ "And how are we doing today, Atonement Boy?"_ a seething voice says, jolting Tate out of his daydream. Startled, Tate drops the book. He scrambles to pick it up and when he looks up, sees Chad staring at him inquisitively. _"Forgot your cape?"_ he continues snidely.

"_Uh, no…sor…sorry about dropping in unannounced."_ Tate mumbles as he awkwardly slides the book back in its place. The last time they had spoken was when he asked for their forgiveness, which—out of placation or out of boredom, he wasn't sure—they begrudgingly granted him. Chad watches him intently. Tate fidgets, unsure of how to begin the conversation. _"Well?"_ Chad says impatiently. _"I'm assuming you didn't come up here for tea and crumpets, so what it is that you want?"_

"_I want to ask you about how to do something."_ Tate says quietly. Chad waits and Tate is still and silent. He raises his eyebrows, giving Tate a hurry-the-fuck-up look and says, _"You know the things that come out of your mouth when you speak? They're called words. I'm sure they're all jumbled up in whatever is left in that half-baked brain of yours, but I haven't got time to waste waiting for whatever synapses you have left to fire up._" He turns to walk away, but then stops himself and spins around; _"Wait, what am I saying? Silly me, I have eternity! You made sure of that, remember? So take your fucking time sweetheart." _Chad places his elbow on the shelf and leans his hand against his head, launching an insincere smirk at shifts nervously. _"I thought you forgave me for…you know…killing you." _Tate whispers that last part, shoving his hands inside his pockets. _"Oh I have Tatums. It'll just take an eternity to get out of my system. Luckily I have that."_ Chad says, his voice dripping with disdain, his lips pursed.

Tate, gaining all the courage he can muster, raises his head and icily stares at Chad squarely in the face. As deep down as he's suppressed it, he is surprised that he can summon traces of the old Tate so quickly; the anger, the hostility, and the I-don't-give-a-fuck attitude. Chad quickly picks up on the change in his demeanor. _"Listen, there's no need to go all postal on our asses—again." _he says nonchalantly, holding up both hands, in a surrendering gesture. _"Just spit it out and tell me why you're here so you can get out of here and we don't have to see each other for another decade."_

Tate is aware of the effect he has on Chad and visibly relaxes, smirking inside. He knows Chad's bark is worse than his bite, and Chad knows that Tate's modus operandi is just the opposite. _"I need to know how you and Patrick once left this house."_ Tate declares. Chad looks at Tate silently, nonplussed for a long time. He then bursts out in a fit of laughter and disbelief. _"You're fucking kidding me, right? After everything that happened to Patrick and I?"_

"_Nope."_ Tate says with all seriousness, never taking his eyes off Chad. _"Man, you really are a little psycho."_ Chad says, shaking his head. _"What does Elvira have to say about this?" _he sneers._ "Her name is Violet, and she doesn't know anything. She doesn't know I'm here asking you about this." _Tate replies. Tate is not quite sure, but thinks that he sees Chad breathe a slight sigh of relief. _"You better keep it that way, honcho. Listen, as someone who can barely tolerate you, take it as a necessary precaution when I tell you to forget about your crazy plan, whatever the hell it is. Go run along with your little girlfriend and your raging hormones and just fuck each other silly. And when you're bored with that, go drum up enough mischief around here to keep you satisfied, OK? Happily ever after. Case closed. There's no need for the two of you to get mixed up in this shit." _

"_I don't even know if we're going to do it, I just want to know how to."_ Tate says determinedly. Chad glares at him, his eyes hooded. _"Listen, I can only be nice for so long…your five minutes is up and your whiny, prepubescent voice is grating my ears." _Chad says frostily, a disgusted look on his face. _"But, please…"_ Tate interjects, on the verge of begging. _"You're really starting to wear my patience thin, kid. I_ _can_ _only take you in small doses, so come back in a few years and maybe then I'll begin to contemplate about giving you the information that you want." _Chad says warningly, his look dark, and eyebrows furrowed.

"_No!" _Tate shouts, frightening himself at his unexpected outburst_. "I want the fucking information now, and you're going to give it to me." _He grits through his teeth, as his hands clench into fists; an act signifying desperation more than anger. This time, Chad is unmoved. _"Just as I suspected."_ He says with a smirk, crossing his arms. _"You're still the same old shitty gutter kid who can't keep his murderous tendencies in check. What happened to forgiveness, to the new and improved Tate? The kinder, gentler, cuddly version?"_

Tate suddenly snaps out of his angry stance. He closes his eyes briefly, takes in a sharp breath, and exhales. _"I'm sorry, Chad, for overreacting."_ Tate says calmly. Chad smiles triumphantly. _"Apology accepted. But you can still fuck off because I'm not going to tell you." _Chad hisses, his eyes blazing._ "Then I'll tell him."_ Tate and Chad both move their searing gazes off of each other and onto Patrick, who chimes in coolly. He saunters in from behind Chad, and gives Tate a cold stare. _"The kid won't take our word for it. So let he and his little girlfriend experience it for themselves. Maybe then they'll think about listening to their elders." _

"_Hey, I'd be about the same age as you…if I were alive."_ Tate says defensively. _"Patrick,"_ Chad says looking at him pleadingly. _"Don't do this. They're stupid kids who are just bored and will forget about this soon enough. Just let the little bastards be."_ But Patrick will have none of it. Still staring intensely at Tate, he waves off Chad's plea. Chad opens his mouth to reply, but then decides better, and quickly shuts it. Chad's acquiescence surprises Tate, leaving him to wonder if it is actually the quiet Patrick who wears the pants in their relationship.

"_Come." _Patrick says forcefully.A mischievous look sparkles in his eyes, as if he is the ringmaster who is leading Tate directly to the hungry lion's pit._ "I'll tell you how Chad and I were able to leave the house. How we jumped into bodies."_ Tate darts his eyes towards Chad, who refuses to make eye contact with him. Without a word, Chad waves his hand on, indicating to Tate to follow Patrick.

* * *

><p>Patrick leads Tate to the other side of the library where he strides over and sits down in a plush, leather chesterfield armchair, crossing his legs. He is the picture of calm and urbaneness. He nods his head to the adjacent chesterfield armchair. Tate sits forward on the edge of the chair, his arms on his legs, his hands knotted together. He is eager, but uncomfortable. Patrick is staring at him silently, expressionless. Tate abruptly clears his throat. <em>"So…ah…thanks for take…taking the time to talk with me."<em> he stutters. _"No problem."_ replies Patrick. Tate waits for Patrick to say more, but he doesn't. Tate inhales deeply and then exhales. _OK, I guess I'm gonna have to take the reins here, _he says to himself. _"Um…so as I was saying to Chad, I was thinking about jumping into a body, you know, just as a way of getting out of the house for a little bit."_ his voice trails off. Tate looks off to the side with a painful expression, as if he is vividly recalling some harrowing memory. _"Violet's been really down lately and I think this might cheer her up."_

"_Oh it will cheer her up all right."_ Patrick responds. Tate smiles. _"Good. Because that's all I want. I don't want to cause any trouble. I told you, I've changed. I'm not like that anymore."_ Tate says with authority. _"Yes, well you've certainly made that known. Unfortunately, actions are louder than words and doing this will in fact cause trouble—lots of it—but that's your decision to make." _Patrick says with disregard.

"_How is it going to cause trouble?" _inquires Tate. _"Well, getting out the house one day of the year is great—exhilarating even. But you know that there is a time limit and eventually you will have to come back." _says Patrick._ "Right..."_ Tate says, not understanding the point that Patrick is trying to make. Patrick rolls his eyes at Tate with an "ugh-do-I-have-to-spell-everything-out-for-this-idiot" look. _"Well, who's to say that when you inhabit a person—a living person's body—that you ever have to leave it?"_ Patrick questions.

Tate stops and thinks hard. _"I guess that's right…but Violet and I wouldn't do that. We know that we'd have to come back eventually. You and Chad and even Hayden did." _Patrick smirks at him. _"Yeah, well you start out thinking that. But as you feel the power of the freedom you've missed for so long, you get high on life—literally. And then the house disappears in the horizon and you tell yourself there's no way you're coming back. Even it means ruining the life of the person you've occupied."_ Tate looks at him confused. Patrick continues. _"You see, after a short while, they simply become a host. A means to an end. And something that started as an innocent way to have fun and get a break from the dismalness of eternity becomes an entirely different private hell on earth."_ Patrick says quietly.

"_What are you saying? That we'll lose our minds if we do this?"_ Tate asks. _"You'll lose not only your sanity, but your identity. When you look in the mirror, you won't see yourself staring back at you. And that might be OK for awhile. But if you stay in long enough, you won't remember who you are." _Patrick leans in closer, gesturing his explanation with his hands._ "You see, the person is still alive, just…subdued. They're mannerisms, thoughts, and feelings start to mix and clash with your own; their memories meld with your memories—and reality becomes all jumbled and confusing."_

"_How long did it take for all the crazy stuff to start happen?"_ Tate inquires quietly. Patrick shrugs and sits back. _"It's different for different spirits. Took about three months for me and Chad until we finally got our wits about us and came back. Hayden was much more sensitive to it—she told me that she started experiencing it after a few weeks."_ _"Whoa."_ Tate whispers. _"I didn't think it would be like that. Is there any way we can avoid it? Pick a relatively stable person?" "Nope. The only way to avoid is to NOT DO IT." _Patrick says slowly. Tate's expression darkens; this is not what he wanted to hear. _"Well, how do you know?" _he says distrustfully. _"Do you know anyone else who's done it? Maybe you fags—sorry, you guys weren't strong enough to handle it." _Patrick throws him a sinister look, but decides to overlook the ignorant comment. He tightly wraps his fingers around each arm of the armchair. _"Listen, I'm telling you it doesn't work. Chad and Hayden and I were lucky we got out and came to our senses. The after-effects for us and probably the people were painful, and ultimately, not worth it. Being stuck here was our fate; we didn't accept it then, but we accept it now. It wasn't right what we did. Who knows what kind of damage we left; what we did to those people's minds?" _Patrick slightly shudders at the thought.

Tate shakes his head, as if dismissing the thought. _"You're wrong. Violet and I are young, but we're strong and smart. And we love each other. We would protect each other." _He pauses._ "Listen, I'll think about what you said. Seriously. Maybe we'll just do it for a week…so nobody gets hurt." _he justifies. _"If that's what you think, kid." _Patrick says deadpan. Tate runs his hands through his hair, frustrated. He almost wishes he didn't come to the library—he's prime to run out and never think about this again. His mind races, thinking of other possible ways to ease Violet's pain, but deep down, he knows that this precarious endeavor is the only viable answer. Violet's tears and the sadness in her voice echoes in his mind and keep his feet planted where they are._ "Can you please just tell me how you…you know, do it?" _he says, his voice tight and his eyes dark.

Patrick sighs. _"Well, it was a happy accident really. I was following this man—a potential buyer—around the house."_ Tate raises his eyebrow suspiciously at Patrick. _"Hey, I was bored OK? A guy's gotta do what a guy's gotta do. Besides, you're the last person who should be judging me." _he says accusatory. _"As I was saying, I was following the guy—closely, one step behind him. He was looking up at the ceiling at something and when he turned around suddenly to ask the realtor a question, my hand went right through him, into him. I was so startled, I just stood there."_ Tate leans forward, his hand grabbing the shards of denim on his ripped jeans that hung on his right knee, which was bouncing nervously. _"Yeah, so what happened?" _he pushes. _"It was the ultimate rush—my hand felt like it was in a bowl of Jello, suspended in slow motion. I could feel his heart beating, the blood rushing though his veins, the cells bouncing around crazily. But here's the real kicker—I think he could feel me too. He grabbed his chest like he was having a heart attack. I got scared and pulled my hand out. He fled like a bat outta hell after that."_

"_Holy shit…" _Tate whispers, a faint smile crosses his lips. _"That's fucking nuts, dude." "Yes, it was."_ Patrick says frowning. _"It was intriguing at first, but quickly became an obsession. This need…this hunger to feel alive again was all I could think about. I knew that I couldn't wait until Halloween, so I made sure to take advantage of every chance I got to practice on people that came to the house."_ _"Did you tell Chad?"_ Tate asks. _"Of course," _Patrick replies immediately. _"I owed it to him. After everything I put him through and he forgave me." _he says sadly. _"But understandably, he was very hesitant about it. So I made sure to test it out first before giving him anymore details. As I got more proficient, I even occupied the bitchy realtor's body a few times and pretended to show couples around the house."_ he says grinning at this amusing memory.

Tate is speechless. All he is able to eke out is, _"So basically, you just reach into the person?" "Yes," _Patrick replies. _"You step in, slowly. Start from the bottom up: your feet first, then your legs, your torso, your arms, and your head last. It will feel very strange at first—and physically difficult—like you're swimming in a pool of gelatin. But you just have to keep on pushing through."_ _"Can't I just take a running leap to get in faster?" _inquires Tate. _"No! What are you, Jumpin' Jack Flash? If you move too quickly and literally "jump" in, you and the person will be all discombobulated and will take a long while to settle." _Patrick comments, obviously annoyed. _"What happens once I'm inside?" _Tate asks, his eyes hungry for more information. _"It will take some time before your eyes can focus; you'll hear a rumbling in your ears; your skin will feel like a million ants are crawling on top of you; it's a sensory explosion. I can imagine that for you, the experience will be much stronger since you've been…not alive for quite some time."_

"_My God…" _Tate replies in awe. _"How the hell did I not know of this?"_ he mutters to himself, wringing his hands. Patrick ignores him comment and continues. _"It's best to attempt this when a person is alone in a corner somewhere, and not in front of others." "And after you successfully inhabit a person?" _Tate asks, inquiring for more details_. "It's down the rabbit hole into Wonderland…" _Patrick mutters cryptically, staring off. _"Huh?"_ Tate is confused. Patrick sighs. _"Look kid, it's different for everyone. Your journey is your journey. That's all I can tell you." _It wasn't much of an explanation, but one that Tate will have to accept. Trying desperately to make sense of all the details he's just received, Tate inquires further. _"So how did you guys decide to leave?"_

"_It took a few months, but Chad and I established a plan on how we would get out of here. We tried to contain our excitement and keep the news to ourselves, but of course, in all her snoopiness, Hayden overheard our plan and wanted in, so we told her."_ Tate smirks and rolls his eyes in agreement. _"Once we occupied bodies, our first order of business was to get even with you." _Patrick continues, his voice hard. The smile on Tate's face slowly dissipates. He gulps. _"But then you had to go and have a change of heart and get all remorseful and shit, so we decided to be the better men and leave it at that. Too bad, it would have been sooo excellent." _Patrick shakes his head and grins evilly. _"What…what was it?"_ Tate inquires shakily, hoping for Patrick's sake that it had nothing to do with Violet. If it did, he was going to have to revoke their truce and beat him to a pulp right then and there.

Chad appears behind Tate and interjects._ "We thought about luring your lovely mother here and then killing her so you'd be stuck with her for all eternity. But we figured the damage had already been done; I mean, look how you turned out." _Tate turns around in the armchair and eyes him coldly, but breathes an internal sigh of relief._ "Plus, we figured having her Tennessee Williams' psychotic ass around here would be bad news for everyone, so we scrapped that plan."_ Chad says. _"Besides, someone needed to rein in your antichrist spawn, and who better than the Wicked Witch of the West?"_

"_And here I thought we were making amends."_ Tate mutters disingenuously. _"Well, almost."_ Patrick says lightly, looking up at Chad. _"What do you mean?" _Tate looks at him puzzled. _"What I mean is, I told you want you wanted to know. Now you have to give me what I want."_ Patrick eyes burn into Tate. _"Look man, you know I don't swing that way." _Tate says, holding his hands up. Patrick at first looks confused and then as if he's about the vomit. _"Agh…don't flatter yourself."_ he says, his face contorted. _"Actually, you are kind of right—I do want your ass, but not for pleasure…for pain." _Patrick's eyes light up. He reaches his arm to the fireplace located beside the armchair and picks up an iron fireplace poker. He holds the poker in one hand and with his other hand, runs the poker through his fingers, and then slaps it against his palm like a baton. He looks at Tate, who is wide-eyed with terror. _"You know it's only fair."_ Patrick says gravely, lowering his head.

Before Tate can run, Chad grabs his arms. Patrick carefully sets the poker on the ground. He walks over to Tate and roughly removes his jeans and boxers. Tate struggles to gain free, but is unsuccessful. After huffing and puffing for a few minutes, he settles down. Tate, feeling violated and exposed, yells, _"Fine. Let's get this over with, you fuckers!"_ He spits in Patrick's direction. Chad violently turns Tate over, so his stomach is leaning over the armchair. _"It's so rewarding after all these years to have the upper hand—to finally see you squirm."_ Patrick says slyly, smiling at Chad, who matches his grin. _"Fair is fair, right? Although, in the grand scheme of things, this really isn't at all fair. You took away, or should I say, blew away our lives, and we only get to take away your dignity for a short while. I would dare to say, that we're even being benevolent with you." _

"_Benevolent my ass!" _Tate wails, tears flooding down his cheeks._ "Yes, it is your ass." _Chad giggles and slaps it hard, leaving a red mark. _"Listen kid, we gave you what you wanted. We even warned you of the dangers. We could have simply encouraged you, let you go on your merry way, and watch you and your little love muffin destroy yourselves."_ Patrick says. _"Leave her out of this!"_ Tate screams. _"Hey settle down. Getting all worked up is not going to make this any easier."_ Patrick says calmly. Tate feels Patrick run the cold fireplace poker across his bottom. Instinctively, his jaw locks and his bottom tightens. _"After this, we're even-steven, OK?" _Patrick declares. Tate bows his head down in silence, choking on his tears. His is on his knees and is holding his hands together, in a prayer-like position. _"Don't worry."_ Chad says seethingly. _"This will only hurt a bit."_ Tate shut his eyes and remembers that he's doing this for Violet.


	8. A New Way to Bleed

**A New Way to Bleed **

"Between Two Lungs" by Florence and the Machine

_Between two lungs it was released  
>The breath that carried me<br>The sigh that blew me forward  
><em>

_'Cause it was trapped  
>Trapped between two lungs<br>It was trapped between two lungs  
>It was trapped between two lungs<br>_

_And my running feet could fly  
>Each breath screaming<br>We are all too young to die  
><em>

_Between two lungs it was released  
>The breath that passed from you to me<br>That flew between us as we slept  
>That slipped from your mouth into mine it crept<br>_

_'Cause it was trapped  
>Trapped between two lungs<br>It was trapped between two lungs  
><em>

_Gone are all the days of begging  
>The days of theft<br>No more gasping for a breath  
>The air filled me head to toe<br>And I can see the ground far below  
>I have this breathe and I hold it tight<br>And I keep it in my chest with all my might  
>I pray to god this breath will last<br>As it pushes past my lips as I... _

* * *

><p>From Chapter 6: "<em>Just because you're back in her good graces doesn't mean that you'll stay there. She's only with you because she's stuck with you. Believe me, if she could leave she would. Before you could blink, she'd run the hell outta here so fast, you'd never see her again."<em>

* * *

><p>"<em>You want to what?!"<em> Violet screams, her voice choking with an emotion Tate could not detect. _"I want us to jump into bodies—into people—who are alive." _Tate says slowly and deliberately, with all seriousness. _"I…I don't understand what you're saying..."_ Violet stutters with disbelief, her eyes shining with utter confusion. _"This is our way to finally escape—for awhile."_ Tate catches himself and quickly adds in the last part for extra measure, to make Violet understand that this is an opportunity to grab some much-needed happiness, albeit, a temporary opportunity.

He walks over to her, and with his hands, grabs a hold of both of her delicate hands. He runs his thumbs tenderly over her slender wrists. He looks down and frowns at the faded cut marks; unabashed, permanent reminders of her internal pain, forever sealed as external pale pink horizontal slits._"Thy wrists are holy, which are the keepers of the keys of thy blood…" _Tate whispers, his voice trailing off as he recites one of his favorite E.E. Cummings stares intently at her wrists, as if she can see directly through them. She looks up from her reverie. _"What blood?"_ she states monotonously, searching Tate's eyes for answers she knows can never be found. _"There is no more blood left, Tate. We are nothing. Our time and existence is nothing. Eternity is nothingness. Nothingness begets nothingness."_

"_But don't you see?"_ Tate protests, his eyes wide with wonder and hope. _"At least for a little while, we can be free. We can exist. It'll be like Halloween every day." _he says with a tiny smile. _"No, it'll be like some fucked up version of invasion of the body snatchers."_ Violet snorts. She slowly pulls her hands out of his and walks over to the window. She leans against the wall, crosses her arms, and stares longingly out at the view.

Tate lets out a frustrated sigh. In one fell swoop, Violet dashes all of his hopes and dreams, which, simple enough, were to fulfill all of her hopes and dreams. _Violator Annihilator_ _strikes again,_ he thinks gloomily. He slowly paces the room, biting his nails, thinking of precisely how to phrase what he wants to say. _"I know it's a crazy idea." _Tate says softly, stopping in front of Violet. She is still staring out the window, with no indication that she is listening to him, but he knows better. _"But we wouldn't really be harming anyone. Just sort of…borrowing their body for a short time." _Violet rolls her presses on._ "We could get out of the house, feel the warmth of the sun on our skin, feel the grass tickle between our toes, smell the fresh air—or rather, the freshly polluted air—since we're in L.A." _Tate mumbles as he scratches his head. He looks at Violet for a reaction, a little smile or chuckle at his ironic observation, but she is still stone-faced.

_We can go to the beach...make love on the sand." _he adds quietly. A wistful smile appears on Violet's face at the thought of this, but it quickly drops into a frown._ "Agh, don't look at it as a negative, Vi. It's a gift! We can be…human…again." _AsTate says this, his brow furrows; it is the first time he truly realizes the implication of what he is proposing. Slowly,Violet turns to him._ "Do you even remember what it's like? To live?" _she inquires earnestly, her sad voice barely audible. Tate, with his head down and his hands shoved in his jean pockets, shuffles his beat up converse sneakers on the wooden floor. _"Not really…"_ he mutters sheepishly.

"_Doesn't that scare you?" _she asks, desperately searching his eyes. Tate shrugs, looking up at her from beneath the long hair that covers his eyes. His non-commiserate silence is the answer she expected._ "Well, it scares me, Tate."_ Violet murmurs, her eyes large. _"I'm starting to forget what it was like, my old life. My memories of it are fading. I don't want to forget who I am."_ she pleads to him. _"You mean who you were, Violet."_ His tone is soft but forceful. Violet scowls at him, and turns her head back toward the window. _"Yeah, well, I guess it conveniently works out for you. Forgetting who you were." _she says bitingly, knowing it is a low blow.

Tate, effectively choosing to ignore her comment, states, _"Listen, Vi, I just thought this could be something that would cheer you up, so you wouldn't be so sad. If I was totally off the mark, then I'm sorry. We don't ever have to bring it up again, OK?"_

Violet is silent for a long while, mulling over his last comment. She stares out at a forked tree branch near the window. Perched on the branch is a bird nest. Inside are two bluebirds chirping at each other. One bird hops up to the edge of the nest, getting ready to take flight. The other follows close behind, but is more hesitant. _This is the only life I get to experience now,_ she says solemnly to herself as she runs her finger along the window pane. _One that I am only a watchful participant of…one that is not my own…_

She turns to Tate. _"And you said Chad and Patrick did this and were fine?" _she asks with raised eyebrows. At the mention of their names, Tate silently winces, recalling his recent disturbing and painful encounter with them. _"Uh, yeah,"_ he replies, lying. _"They told me how to do it and everything." _Violet looks back out the window at the bird nest. Only one bird remained in the nest. It was fluttering around aimlessly. With its beak up pointed high up, it chirped incessantly, almost as if it was calling, wailing, for the other bird that had flown off.

Violet walks towards Tate and sits down Indian-style on the floor. Tate follows suit. She leans into him, and brushes her lips softly against his. _"OK, so tell me how to do it."_ she whispers coaxingly, her eyes boring into his. Tate, his eyes beaming back into hers, smiles slyly. _"You sure?"_ he prompts. _"Yes, I'm sure."_ Violet replies matter-of-fact_. "Let's go hijack some bodies."_ she says with a smirk and an unexpected determination that exhilarates and frightens her all the same.

* * *

><p>Through the open window, Violet can hear the whistling wind and feel it whipping across her face. <em>"Woo hoo!" <em>Violet yells, pumping her fist vigorously in the air. Her other hand is shakily wrapped around the steering wheel, desperately trying to control the vehicle. When she was alive, she had only taken a few drivers' education classes and hadn't gotten her permit yet; she was rusty behind the wheel to say the least. But her lack of driving experience was not to going to ruin her good mood. She was smiling so hard her face was starting to hurt; but no matter, she could actually _feel_ her face, and the pain was as glorious as she could remember.

Lost in her elation, the car begins to veer out of the lane._ "Whoa! Relax Violet…"_ she says aloud nervously, jerking the car back into her lane. As she steadies the wheel, she glimpses at her hand. Well, not _her_ hand, technically. It was a hand that was much older, wrinkled, with bright red manicured nails and a gaudy diamond ring.

As she travels along the flat, desert road miles outside of Los Angeles, her mind attempts to reconcile the events that unraveled a few hours ago. Everything is a blur; all she can picture are flashes, like a person with amnesia who is just starting to recover bits of their memory back: Staring out the window of her bedroom; Marcy, the real estate agent walking up the brick patio to the front door; Following Marcy around the house; Focusing on Marcy's bright red pants suit and taking a running leap into the red fabric… Violet suddenly stomps on the brake pedal and the car comes to a screeching halt. Her breathing labored, she puts her hands on the steering wheel and lays her head down to catch her breath. As she rests her head down heavy, the horn blasts, making Violet scream and jump.

She realizes she has stopped in the middle of the road. Her eyes dart into the rear view mirror and she breathes a sigh of relief. Luckily, there are no cars behind her. Taking a deep breath, Violet composes herself, lifts her foot off of the brake pedal, and the car begins to move again. She squints and then opens her eyes wide, which fight to stay open and focus on the open road. She is still a bit disoriented, and fatigue has begun to settle in.

She remembers feeling dizzy – very dizzy. She knew that she jumped in way too fast. She knew that she shouldn't have jumped in at all, but she couldn't help herself. The opportunity was right in front of her, too good to pass up. Shuddering at the thought, she scolds herself for not being patient – it was a virtue that she clearly never acquired. She remembers that at the moment of entrance, she experienced a headache like none before—like a brain freeze when you eat cold ice cream too fast—but the pain was far worse. Through the pain, memories flashed at lightning speed, like a movie of your life on extreme fast forward. But the memories were not hers; they were Marcy's. Violet didn't know how long this went on, it could have been two minutes or ten minutes. A flash of white light burst in her mind's eye and then suddenly, everything went to black. The headache subsided instantly.

At first, she felt extremely uncomfortable, as she could feel that she was not inside her own skin. This body was not hers. The movements she was making were not automatic; they were slower, more deliberate and thought out. She felt as if she were traipsing through a swamp full of thick mud. All auditory sounds were muffled; her eyesight was obstructed and cloudy, like she had cataracts. When she attempted to speak, her words seemed slurred and the voice that came out sounded completely different than the voice in her head. It was as if she was a puppet master, working inside of someone's brain, pulling levers and pushing buttons that controlled all movement, all thoughts, and all functions of the host body. As time went on, these maladies cleared up. She became increasingly aware of everything around her—she was like a newborn; everything was of interest, everything was to be explored. Colors were bright and intense, not the dull gray that she was used to visualizing; the air was sweeter and warm, not stagnant and raw. When she touched objects, she could feel molecules vibrating. When she closed her eyes and concentrated, she could feel the cells zinging and tingling throughout her body.

As a force of habit, she walked around the house; slowly at first, but then began to quicken her pace as she became more excited and more comfortable in her new body. She was a grinning fool; prancing around the house like a little girl practicing ballet. She let out delightful screams and infectious laughter. She stopped in front of a large window. Closing her eyes, she extended her arms out to her sides as far as they could go. She pressed herself against the window, feeling the warmth of the sun through the glass. As she opened her eyes, she saw Marcy's car parked in the driveway and it immediately hit her—_Freedom! I can go outside! I can leave this shithole! _Without hesitation, Violet began to sprint towards the front door.

As she ran, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Hayden leaning against the wall smirking, which was no surprise—her wretchedness knows no bounds. In a sickeningly-sweet saccharine voice, she gave Violet a little wave and declared, _"Safe trip sweetheart! Hope to never see you again!" _Violet thought for a second to stop and give Hayden a piece of her mind; to rub it in thatHayden wasn't smart enough to think of doing this first, and to enjoy her time being stuck in here with all the other miserable entities. But Violet felt doing this—stooping down to Hayden's adolescent level—wouldn't be worth her time; precious time that needed to be spent out in the world, living the life that she deserved, the life that was unjustly snuffed out way before its time.

As she ran out, she also past Chad and Patrick. They were staring at her quietly underneath the alcove; Chad disapprovingly, and Patrick sadistically. This confused Violet; she thought that they would be happy for her, that she had gotten her chance to experience this. But she quickly shrugged off the warning bells in her mind. She was tired of being on edge, of watching her back, of thinking suspiciously of others. She was sick of their faces, their voices, their attitudes and judgments. She needed to get the hell of Dodge, and she was finally doing it. Before anyone could speak to her, before anyone could scold her or convince her otherwise, she grabbed Marcy's keys from the table near the front door and ran out of the house. Her legs were already sore from their heightened activity and the tears that drenched her face burned her skin, but it was a burn that felt so good and so right.

"_Violet!" _Tate yelled and chased after her. When she heard Tate's voice, she stopped immediately. _Oh, God,_ she thought. _I forgot about Tate. _She turned around. She was on the sidewalk outside of the wrought iron gate in the front yard. Tate ran up to the gate, as far as he could go without automatically being banished back into the house. They stood there, both panting, each on one side of the gate. Tate wrapped his hands around the bars. _"Violet," _he pleaded. "_Come back. We promised that we would do this together, remember? That we would wait until Marcy brought a couple around to show the house to. She was probably getting the house ready. It shouldn't be long now."_

Violet, or from the looks of it, Marcy, was fidgeting and looking down the street into the open horizon. _"You don't know that Tate."_ she said quietly. _"What if it takes her a long time? You know that every time a tenant leaves it just takes longer for another one to be brave enough to move in." _Tate looked at Violet squarely in the eye. Even though it was not the beautiful eyes that he recognized, he could see her. . . inside. _"Vi, what are you going to do out there, by yourself, all alone? You don't want to worry your parents. Come on, we talked about this…planned it all out. You know this is wrong." _Violet didn't respond. _"Hey," _Tate said gently, reassuringly, pressing his face against the open space between the bars._ "I'm not mad at you, OK? No one will be mad at you. Now just come back in and we can figure this out. Maybe we can get "Marcy" to call someone, a male co-worker or something and lure him to the house, so then I can get to him. What do you think?" _He desperately searched her eyes for some kind of confirmation.

Violet looked up at Tate, at his loving smile, with tears in her eyes. She shook her head. _"I'm sorry, Tate."_ _"What?"_ Tate said confused, his brows furrowed. _"Violet, what are you doing?" _he says alarmed, his eyes growing wide._ "I'm sorry," _Violet repeated through sobs. _"I can't wait any longer."_ She reached out to touch his hand wrapped around the gate, but her fingers moved right through him. She gasped, and swiftly pulled away, as if she touched a burning flame. The divide of life and death between had become explicably clear. Violet turned away and walked towards the car.

Tate's eyes darted wildly and his mind raced; filled with the utmost fear and dread, he violently shook the gate with all his might._ "Violet, stop! Don't do this!" _he yelled, spitting and spouting, a torrential rainfall of fresh tears running down his cheeks. Violet wiped tears from her eyes, and obsessively counted the click-clack of her high heels against the pavement in an effort to distract herself from the madness that was unraveling behind her. _"Violet!"_ Tate wailed her name so fiercely, so tragically; eerily reminiscent of his tortured battle cries when he tried to save her in the bathtub that dreadful night. And now he's lost her all over again.

* * *

><p>Violet rubs her eyes and yawns. Her elation has waned; melancholy is rearing its ugly head from thinking about what she has done to Tate. She knows what she did was wrong, that she had completely ignored their agreement to wait and do this together, but when she saw the opportunity, she just had to take it. She didn't know how long it would be until another one came along. It in no way justifies what she did, but at this point, she simply doesn't care.<p>

He may be OK with staying in that house forever, with not remembering what it was like to be alive, and with letting the past and his life fade away into obscurity and oblivion, but she couldn't be on board with that. She couldn't take existing (or rather, not existing) in that house one minute longer. She needed this more than he did. She knows that he understands this. And she knows that eventually, he'll forgive her. He has no choice.

Violet yawns again. _Man, it feels so good to yawn_, she contemplates. She can't remember ever being this tired. Her limbs feel like heavy armor. As a ghost, she didn't really need to sleep; whenever she did, it mostly out of pure boredom, or to keep a daily routine, or just something to do after sex. Violet rolls down the car window to let air in and turns the radio on full blast to keep herself awake.

It's nearly dusk and as she looks out onto the wide terrain that awaits her, Violet recognizes that the sky never looked so beautiful. Orange and pink and dusty; magical, bewildering, and awe-inspiring. All self-loathing thoughts out of the way for the moment, she smiles with contentment as she drives around looking for the nearest hotel. She has Marcy's wallet, and quickly calculates that she should be fine with money and credit cards for awhile.

As the sun begins to set, Violet's eyelids grow heavier and heavier. _Maybe I should pull off to side and just rest for a minute_, she says to herself. Then she sees a road sign: **Hotel 5 miles.** _Hmm, I might as well just drive till I reach the hotel, _she deduces. She looks down at the horizon, the line where the brightly colored sky and dark gravel meet. As she drives, the line of the horizon gradually moves upward, and the darkness of the gravel fills up most of her line of sight until everything goes black.

When Violet opens her eyes, she coughs and sputters. She slowly lifts her head off of the steering wheel and sees her car off the side of the road. _"What the hell?"_ she mumbles. Automatically, she makes a move to get out of her seat, but the seat belt is wrapped tight around her body. She twists and turns her body to look outside the car windows and sees the car in little ditch. _"Damn it!"_ she yells. _"I must have fallen asleep." _She assesses herself quickly, running her hands down her arms and legs – no blood. She doesn't feel that any of her bones are broken. Her body, which was rigid and tense, now yielded somewhat. _"Whew, thank God I'm alive."_ she mutters. The absurdity and irony of that comment not lost on her, Violet begins to giggle. The giggles build and build, and soon enough, she is having a full-on laughing fit. A laughing fit that was releasing all the pain, anxiety, hurt, and shame that had managed to build up— not just in these last few hours, but in the last ten years.

As her laughing subsides, she tilts her head back on the headrest of her seat and feels a sharp pain. _"Ow!" _she says, rubbing her temple. She looks down at her forefingers. There is blood on them from a cut on her head. Violet stares at the blood, mesmerized, and rubs her thumb in the blood against her forefingers. A smile slowly erupts on her face. She has found a new way to bleed.


	9. You Should Not Have Let that Happen

**You Should Not Have Let that Happen**

"Skin" by Zola Jesus

Safety net, don't hold me now

In this hole I've fallen down

Secret home I made and found

And you wait to breathe

Skin come off,

Skin come off

I've had enough

Skin come off

And in the sickness, you have faith

And in the thickness you find me

Finally

In the city, you find pain

And the people you see there

That remind you of your role

Let me go

Constance returns to the front window of her living room. With a delicate move of her fingers, she slowly slides the white lace curtain a minimal inch. One bold, brown eye surveys the Murder House. All is quiet. She notices that the realtor's bright red BMW convertible has disappeared. Constance visualizes the realtor's car with disdain. _Such a gaudy, flashy vehicle…with its devil-red paint…tasteless. _She understands that the realtor dropping by the house can signify only one thing. Her perfectly manicured eyebrow lifts; Constance decides that it is time for a visit. She hasn't been to the house in over a month, since the last family escaped—unscathed, but certainly scared out of their wits. _Hmm, even dead, those Harmons are still trying to do good_, she thinks bitterly. She shakes her head and lets the curtain fall back. _When will they ever learn?_

Walking into her boudoir, Constance gently sits down at her vanity table, crossing her legs underneath. The feel of the space was old Hollywood glamor from a bygone era; a time, place, and dream that Constance so ruthlessly refuses to relinquish. She runs her smooth palms against the top of the table and breathes in a smile. On the table sits a few ornate items that clash with the vanity, which is made to look expensive but assembled with cheaply made parts. Each vintage item is deliberately placed, as if in its own showcase: a silver-plated paddle hairbrush with boar bristles that her old casting agent, Marty, gave to her as a Christmas present (he told her that it once belonged to Lana Turner); a crystal perfume bottle with a black squeeze pump that her husband purchased from a Parisian boutique on rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré while on their honeymoon; and a 14 ct gold powder case with a pink satin powder puff, a special gift that all of her children gave her on her 40th birthday. Although each item brought her luxurious joy, they were each tinged with sadness, a reminder of the people who destroyed her and who were equally destroyed by her.

This vanity, so aptly titled, was Constance's sanctuary. It was the only place where the focus was entirely on_ her_. It was also the one place where all of her imperfections could not be ignored, cast under the white heat of the bright light bulbs that surrounded the mirror. Constance stares into the mirror regally, eyeing herself as if she were Cleopatra. She takes a dollop of lotion and lifting her head up, rubs the lotion in an upward motion from the bottom of her neck to just underneath her chin. She leans in closer to the mirror, examining the wrinkles on her neck. "_Ugh, like the rings on a Redwood's tree trunk_…" she mutters distastefully. "_If you counted all these, you'd think I was 100 years old."_

Her Greta Garbo-inspired pink silk robe is slung across the vanity chair. She grabs the sleeve and runs the material between her fingers. "_I so love silk…_" she whispers dreamily. She pulls the sleeve up higher until the dress slips off the chair. Looking longingly into the mirror, Constance softly rubs the silk in circles around her right cheek. She tilts her face into the silk, smelling it, taking in its elegant coolness. Lost in her thoughts, she closes her eyes and begins to softly sing a Billie Holiday tune, "_Yes, the strong gets more…While the weak ones fade…Empty pockets don't ever make the grade…Mama may have…Papa may have…But God bless the child that's got his own…That's got his own…"_

Suddenly, Constance snaps out of her reverie, as an uneasiness surges through her body. She gulps, and flings the silk robe around the chair. Turning to the mirror, she composes herself, pats her bouffant hairdo, and decides that it looks presentable enough to go over to the house. Ever the snoop, Constance was intent on finding out why the realtor was there, and who the next "suckers" to move into the house would be. Besides, she needed to know the character of the people that were going to be living in close quarters with her babies, Beau and Tate. She rummages through her makeup bag and takes out her mascara and lipstick. She was not one for much makeup—she didn't want others thinking she was a tramp—but always put a little extra on in case she ran into Travis, whom she still cared for. _Even though he slept with that two-bit whore_, she thinks disgustedly.

Constance stands up, and taking one last look in the mirror, straightens out her skirt and pinches her cheeks. _"A lady must never leave the house looking unkempt," _she says matter-of-factly to herself.

* * *

><p>The click-clack of Constance's 3-inch heels disrupts the quiet concrete. She walks quickly up the walkway of the murder house, looking around to see if any of the neighbors are watching her. As she reaches the front door, she notices that it is slightly ajar. Slightly alarmed, she opens the door slowly and surveys the living room. Everything looks normal. She softly calls out for her son. <em>"Tate?" <em>She hears no response. "_Tate honey, its Mama. Please come talk with me." _

She continues to walk slowly and quietly through the house. She suddenly stops just as she is about to enter the kitchen. She hears a jumble of voices—angry voices. _"So help me God Tate, if my daughter doesn't come back…" "She will Dr. Harmon, I promise!" _Constance recognizes the voices as Ben Harmon's and her son's._ Agh, that wretched Ben_, Constance laments. _What is yelling at my baby for now? My Tate does nothing but waste his time, talents, and gifts on loving that little train wreck Violet._

She edges up against the wall and peaks around the corner. She sees Ben, Vivian, and Tate sitting down at the kitchen table. Tate is clearly upset and agitated. Vivian says in astonishment, _"How is it possible that she could leave this house?" "I told you," _Tate says impatiently,_ "She jumped into the realtor's body and left." What? _Constance bemuses, as she flings her body back against the wall, holding a fist tightly against her chest, her breath constricted. Her eyes are wildly scouring the hallway, wondering if she heard correctly._ They can't possibly be talking about a spirit—no one can leave this house…_

"_But how is that possible?" _Vivian replies slowly._ "I don't know!" _Tate says, clearly annoyed._ "It just is." _he replies solemnly, choking up tears. _"You did this." _Ben says accusingly, his voice low, his blue eyes blazing. _"I know it was you. Violet would have NEVER left this house on her own. She would have NEVER left her family…unless it was to get away from you. What were you doing to her?"_

"_NOTHING!" _Tate yells._ "I would never…I love her. I was ju—just trying to make her happy. I didn't think she would run away." "That's the point, Tate. You don't THINK." _Ben says bitingly. The baby that Vivian is holding begins to wail. It breaks the nightmarish reverie that Ben and Vivian are in. _"Come on Ben, let's go," _she says. Ben looks at her in astonishment. He clearly doesn't think the conversation is over yet. He has more unkind words to lash out at Tate. But Vivian pushes. _"We have to go take care of the baby."_ she says, forcefully implying the message that this is Tate's mess to clean up and castigating him will do no good and will not bring their daughter back any faster. She turns to Tate with watery eyes and pleads, _"Bring her back. We need her here." "If it takes me forever, I will find a way to bring her back, Dr. and Mrs. Harmon, I promise." _Tate says steadfast. Ben slowly rises from his chair. He gives Tate a hateful but tearful look and silently leaves the room.

Constance is frozen in fear. She cannot believe what she has just heard. _Jumping in bodies?_ _Is this true? How did I not know about this?_ She waits silently until the Harmons leave and Tate is alone. She tiptoes into the kitchen. _"Sweetheart?" _she whispers. Tate, his head in his hands, lifts his head up quickly and gives Constance a blank stare. He blinks a few times, and when he registers that it's his mother, his stare quickly turns icy. _"What do you want?"_ he mutters, wiping away tears. _"I just wanted to come and see you, honey,"_ she says, careful not to make him angry. _"I haven't seen you in awhile and I missed you." "That's nice."_ Tate says sarcastically._ "I didn't miss you." _Constance swallows hard, and decides to ignore his hurtful comment.

She slowly takes a seat next to him at the table. While she does this, he is eyeing her every move, his dark eyes staring at her with contempt. Constance reaches into her pocket. _"Do you care if I?"_ she gently gives the cigarette pack in her hand a little shake. He sighs, and shakes his head no. She lights a cigarette with her sterling silver Zippo lighter, and inhales deeply. _"I couldn't help but overhear the argument." _she states, plumes of smoke sailing out of her nostrils. Tate stares at her blankly; despite being annoyed at his mother's uncanny ability to show up at the most inopportune times, he is too crestfallen to respond.

"_Is it true, honey?" _she whispers, reaching out to touch his arm._ "Yes." _he replies, jerking his arm away from her, as if her touch were poison. Constance, instantly lightheaded, looks as if the wind has been knocked out of her. She shakily puts the cigarette in an ashtray. _"How…how did you find out about this?" _she struggles to say_. "Chad and Patrick told me."_ Tate says blandly. Constance's demeanor darkens. _"You mean the fags? You listened to those…those abominations of God?"_ she says viciously. She is quiet for a moment, her hand clenched in a fist, knocking lightly on the table. She is looking every which way but Tate, clearly upset with him. _"How could you be SO stupid?" _she says, seething, the vein in her forehead throbbing. Tate shoots her a look of aversion, though it is misguided; it is a reaction to—nay—a repulsion of his own actions, because he knows what she is saying is true. He makes a move to get up, but Constance grabs hold of his arm. _"Please, sweetheart, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to call you that,"_ she pleads, pulling herself together as quickly as she had come undone. _"Please, sit down and talk to me," _she begs, her voice cracking.

Tate plops back down in the chair._ "I made a mistake, Mom,"_ he weeps. _"I just want her back…I need her back."_ Constance tilts her head and stares at her sobbing son, a look of concern across her face. Part of her is kindly sympathetic at the sight of his grief, while another part of her is utterly disgusted by his weakness. She takes another deep inhale of smoke and drawls in her southern twang, _"They do not love that do not show their love. The course of true love never did run smooth. Love is a familiar. Love is a devil. There is no evil angel but Love." _Tate looks up at her, inquisitive._ "That's Shakespeare, you know," _she says quietly, looking deep into his bleary eyes._ "I know," _says Tate._ "I didn't know you knew." "I may not be a wordsmith, but your Momma's been known to read a few classics in her day." _she says wryly, smiling at Tate. He gives her a sheepish grin.

"_Don't worry my sweet boy,"_ she says, as she reaches out, stroking his chin. _"Leave everything to me. I'll take care of it."_

* * *

><p>Violet is sitting on the hotel bed, smoking, fresh cuts on her arm. She puts the cigarette out, and blows the last remnants of smoke straight up towards the ceiling. She leans back on her palms, extends her legs and wiggles her toes. Looking at them, she admires the fresh coat of black nail polish she just painted on. She admits, it looks a bit odd on a 40-something-year-old woman's legs, but she'll work with what she's got. From time to time, she does miss her own body though. Her vibrant, smooth skin, slender frame, and silky long hair. She didn't realize how good she had it. Now when she looks in the mirror, she sees wrinkles, little paunches of fat, and short, dark hair mixed with bits of gray. But that all pales in comparison to being able to go outside and actually feel the heat from the sun, to walk or run or drive anywhere, and to eat real food—albeit, crappy convenience store beef jerky or the occasionally diner fare, since her funds are low.<p>

Indeed, the unhappiness with her appearance didn't matter compared to the freedom she was experiencing. Yet though it was an amazing existence, she soon realized it was a rather lonely one. There were many instances when she would turn her head or look back expecting Tate to be at her side, sharing in the excitement of whatever she was doing. She missed having dinner with her parents and her baby brother, conversing and laughing about the day's events. But Violet knew that she would return to the house eventually, so whenever she felt sentimental, she pushed those thoughts and feelings aside and focused on staying in the moment and enjoying the present. She didn't know if and when this opportunity would come again—or if she would simply have the guts to do it again.

Humming to herself, Violet leans back against the headboard and turns on the TV. It's a rare rainy, overcast day in Los Angeles, so she decides to stay in and catch up on the TV she's missed. As she aimlessly channel surfs, she comes across a crappy reality show on MTV. She watches it for a few minutes, twirling the remote control in her hands. _"Geez, do teenagers really act like this now?" _she says aloud, horrified yet amazed at what she is seeing._ "I'm kinda glad I'm dead…" _she mutters. _"Then what the hell are you doing to me?"_ a woman's piercing voice screams. The sound reverberates in Violet's ears. Violet jumps off the bed and grabs the Swiss Army knife—a present that Tate gave her that she always keeps on her—from off of the nightstand. _"Who's there?"_ she yells. She hears the woman's angry voice again: _"What are you doing to me?" _

"_Where are you?" _Violet wails. She clutches the knife in her hand, ready to stab at the intruder, but no one is there. "_What the hell is going on?" _she says frighteningly_, s_wirling around the room, confused.

"_Leave me ALONE!"_ the voice pleads, now in a more muffled tone. Violet's eyes widen at the realization of where the voice is coming from. _"No…this can't be…it—it's too soon. I haven't done anything yet!" _shelaments, shaking her head.

But the voice continues:_ "Please let me go, this isn't right!"_ _"NO!"_ Violet screams. She smacks her head with both of her hands and yells, _"Shut up! Shut the FUCK up!"_ She shuts her eyes and the darkness is punctured by flashes of images—memories it seems—but not her own. _"No,"_ she whispers shuddering. _"This is isn't real…this is MY time…I won't leave until I'm ready!" "Get out of me you little witch!" _the voice snarls._ "NOOO!" _Violet lets out a bloodcurdling scream that drowns out all noise. She doesn't know how loud or how long she screams. Suddenly, everything goes black. Her breathing heavy, she slowly opens her tear-stained eyes. All is quiet except for the white noise coming from the TV.

* * *

><p>"<em>Billie Dean? You can't be serious Mom!"<em> Tate says in disbelief. _"She's a professional—"_ Constance begins to say. _"—She's a quack!"_ he interjects. _"And she's made it very clear that she thinks I'm the Goddamn antichrist, so what makes you think she'll want to help me?"_ _"Violet,"_ Constance says with certainty. _"She'll do it for the girl."_

* * *

><p>Billie licks her pink glossy lips slowly as she picks invisible lint from her skirt. She is seated in the living room in a comfortable armchair that one who sits in it would usually sink into; however, she is sitting on the edge of the chair, her back as straight as a board. <em>"Thank you so much for taking time out of your busy schedule to come here."<em> Constance drawls, a fake smile plastered across her lips. _"Now Constance, you know that my schedule is not that busy." _Billie responds, staring at her inquisitively. _"What is it that you want?"_ Billie doesn't mince words and gets right to the point.

As she realizes her jig is up, Constance drops her artificial smile, replaces it with a tepid one, and gets down to business. _"Well, last time you were here, you helped us out a great deal, and I'm afraid that we need you're help again."_ _"We?"_ Billie questions. _"Yes. Me and my son, Tate."_ _"Oh no," _Billie says, shaking her index finger as she rises quick up out of the armchair and begins gathering her things to leave._ "I told you that I will NOT help him."_ As Billie walks steadfastly to the door, Constance, in a panic, yells,_"Wh-what about Violet?"_ Billie halts, but doesn't turn around. _"Will you help her, then? You see, it's really that poor, precious girl that needs your assistance." _Constance bemoans.

Billie turns her head to the side, but keeps her body straight. She has a peripheral view of Constance. _"What's wrong with Violet?" _Billie says softly_. "Did your boy do something to her?" _Constance stares at Billie with astonishment at the accusation, clutching her hand to heart, and answering in a dramatic fashion: _"Why, of course not. My son loves that girl with all his might. He would never do anything to hurt her."_ Billie is silent. Constance continues. _"Violet has taken it upon herself to jump into a living person's body." _Billie's eyes widen and she turns around to face Constance. _"She left the house shortly after and has been gone ever since." Good for her. _Billie thinks as she surveys the room from floor to ceiling. _Get the hell outta this place. _Constance closely observes Billie, who is still silent. _"Well?"_ says Constance, a bit annoyed at Billie's lack of reaction. _"Have you ever heard of this before?"_ she says, wringing her hands.

"_I have."_ said Billie calmly, as she sticks her neck out regally. _"It's not too common among spirits, but… there has been an incident or two that I have heard of." _Constance breathes a sigh of relief. _"Oh, thank heavens! So you know how to get her back then?"_ _"I didn't say that."_ Billie replies quickly, shooting Constance a hard look. Constance's face falls. _"Well, can you at least contact her? See where she is at, and maybe I can go find her?" "What makes you think that I can contact Violet?"_ Billie inquires, walking back into the living room. _"Well, I just thought that since you had quite a rapport with Violet, you would_ _be able to talk to her and convince her to return here." _Constance replies sensibly.

"_What makes you think she wants to return?" _Billie stops in front of Constance, crosses her arms, and stares at her head on. Constance nervously takes a step back._ "Well that's just it—she doesn't. But she needs to—for her own sanity and for that poor woman's body she's taken over." _Constance spews. Billie eyes Constance carefully. _"Do you really care about her wellbeing or simply your son's wellbeing?"_ Billie demands. This has struck a nerve in Constance, who takes a step closer to Billie and pushes her index finger into Billie's shoulder. _"That is neither here nor there, Ms. Howard."_ Constance says, her voice dripping with disdain. _"I need that girl back here. My son's wellbeing depends on that girl's wellbeing. Now I think you know what my normally sweet boy is capable of when he is not well." _Constance says, her voice low, her eyes flashing with intimidation.

Billie's eyes first widen in fear and then in compliance. Constance's threat could be an empty one, but she wasn't going to take the chance and ignore it; the darkness she felt from Tate was unspeakable in its horrors, and she knew that she had no choice but to help them. _"I can communicate telepathically with Violet. I have done it before." _Billie replies. Constance's eyebrow lifts in amusement. _"I was able to do it easily when we were in the same room. But since she's not here, I'll need something of hers, a piece of clothing or jewelry that will let me channel her."_

Constance nods her head and extends her hand out, pointing to the living room. _"Have a seat. I'll have Tate give me something of hers."_ As she walks away, Billie says coldly, _"He is not welcome in my presence."_ Not looking back, Constance waves her hand, motioning that she understands. _"And neither is your grandson, for that matter."_ Constance stops dead in her tracks. _"You should not have let that happen."_ Billie says sadly. Constance pauses, and grabs the edge of nearest wall to hold herself up as if she is about to faint. After a few seconds, and with no reply, she composes herself and slowly walks away to find Tate.


End file.
